


The Silence of Souls

by thefandomsinhalor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Canon Divergent, Castiel is Not Oblivious (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Godstiel - Freeform, M/M, Magic, Mentioned Rowena/Sam Winchester (Past AU), Season/Series 13, Team Free Will 2.0 (Supernatural), The First Blade (Supernatural), Trauma, tfwbigbang2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26353507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefandomsinhalor/pseuds/thefandomsinhalor
Summary: After receiving an unexpected phone call from Patrick, a witch who Sam and Dean encountered years ago, Team Free Will 2.0 leave Dodge City behind and rush to meet him in Wichita. The reason: He claims to know a way that could help Mary cross back to their universe.His demands are reasonable and the spell is simple, but Patrick warns them that the spell is not without risks. After all, the universe always has a way of balancing itself out.Not thrilled at the idea of potentially releasing something bad into the world, they nevertheless think that Mary’s safety is worth the risk.So, the original Team Free Will cast the spell, with Jack by their side, ready to assist them against any surging danger.Unfortunately, what is unleashed upon them is far more troubling than anything they had anticipated.It’s the spell-casters’ darkest versions of themselves.Namely, Godstiel, the Boy King of Hell and Deanmon, bearer of the mark of Cain.And all three of them are determined to make themselves very comfortable in their new home.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 18
Kudos: 56
Collections: Team Free Will Big Bang: Collection 2020





	1. Chapter One: Worth the Risk

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for Team Free Will Big Bang 2020!  
> Thank you mods for organizing this challenge. You are truly the best and massively understanding. Thank you!  
> Please, show the amazing impmakesart some [love](https://impmakesart.tumblr.com/post/628297581565444096/the-silence-of-souls) for their WONDERFUL art. Imp, it was a pleasure working with you and I thank you immensely of your patience and support! I can't wait for everyone to see your art 😍
> 
> Thank you [Danica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danica_Dust/pseuds/Danica_Dust) and Landrala who are always helpful, supportive and, quite frankly, just simply the best. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it and that everyone is safe ❤️

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“Dean—”

“It has shady written all over it! I mean, since when do we get phone calls to just give us good news—and I really mean _good news_ like we didn’t even know could exist?”

Unable to help himself, Sam let out a short laugh and said, “Um, that’s what literally just happened two days ago.” He then pointed in Castiel’s direction, who was standing right next to the entryway with Jack at his side.

While Castiel seemed mildly amused by Sam’s remark, the same could not be said about Dean. Quite the contrary.

“But that’s my point! That was like one in a million and a completely different situation!” Dean cried out. “We haven’t seen or heard from this guy in over a decade. But _somehow_ he knew how to reach us, where we were, who was with us, what we needed _and_ how we could get it, too. So, like I said, _shady_.”

“I get that, Dean, but it’s about Mom. So, I don’t know about you, but I think the prospect of getting Mom back warrants five minutes of our time to hear what Patrick has to say, no?”

“Fine,” groaned Dean. “But did we have to meet him _here_ in the middle of night though?” he added, gesturing around him with a look of disgust.

Sam had to admit that Dean had a good point there.

By the looks of it, a fire had taken place long ago and the building had simply been condemned instead of repaired. Burnt tables and chairs were dispersed all over the room. The mirror behind the bar was shattered and shards of glass were cracking under their feet as they carefully crossed the room.

So, no, picking ruins as a rendezvous spot wouldn’t have been Sam’s first choice if he had meant to inspire trust. But he reasoned that the questionable location was simply due to their last-minute arrangement rather than Patrick’s intentions.

Which was why he said, “Dean, we’re here. All four of us. Together. I’m not saying we go in blindly, but he had been fair last time. Besides, if he meant us any harm, given that he knows everything about us like you just said, he could have easily dropped in on us and we would have never seen him coming. But instead, he called us.”

“I just—it feels like a trap and I don’t like it.”

“And here I had thought we had left on relatively good terms, guys.”

Patrick was now standing at the other end of the room, causing both brothers to jump at his sudden entrance.

As they had suspected, he looked just as they remembered him. Sharp suit. Haircut. Laid back—but confident—attitude.

And he didn’t appear to have aged a single day since they had last seen him, of course.

Hands in pockets, Patrick took a step towards the brothers.

“Gentlemen, nice to see you. Sam, pleasure again.”

“Um. Hi. Same.”

Patrick then turned his attention to the other half of their group. “Castiel and Jack.”

Unlike Sam and Dean, Castiel and Jack hadn’t been startled by Patrick’s arrival. But opting for caution, Castiel rested a caring hand on Jack’s shoulder, gently nudging him behind him.

Holding his stare as he studied the both of them with undivided attention, Patrick dramatically paused for a second, until he finally added, “An angel of the Lord and a Nephilim. I’ve heard quite a lot about you both. I’m honored.” And he gave them a respectful nod.

“Awesome. Now that that’s out of the way,” said Dean, obscuring Patrick’s view of Castiel, as he practically stepped in front of him, “mind telling us what the deal is here? Can you really do it? Can you bring our Mom back or are you just screwing with us?”

“Mad, Dean?”

“Just have a few concerns. And questions. Like how did you know how to find us? Not many people have this number.”

Smiling at the corner of his mouth, Patrick said, “I must admit that after our last meeting, I kept tabs on you, boys.”

“Gross. Why?” asked Dean.

“It’s not every day that I get beaten at my own game and I was intrigued,” he said, momentarily glancing at Sam. “I thought that perhaps one day it might be beneficial to know where to find you.”

“To use us, you mean?”

Lifting his eyes towards the ceiling as though he was pondering on his choice of words, Patrick said, “I was thinking more like a trade, of sorts.”

“Trading what? Years? You want to play poker again?” asked Sam.

“Oh, goodness no, I have no interest in playing with you boys again. Been there, done that. Besides, what would be the point? I’m not about to run out of those and it’s not what you are desperately seeking.” Taking another step, he said with a genuine expression on his face, “Your mother. I heard of her whereabouts. And like I told you on the phone, Sam, I know a way to bring her back.”

The group exchanged hopeful looks.

“How? Based on what we know of alternate realities—”

“Or dimensions, as I prefer calling them,” said Patrick, cutting Sam off.

“Right. Well, um, the thing about those is that you can only reach them through a portal. And you need a key—or even keys—to open it. Or a spell. Or both to—”

“To access a portal, yes,” said Patrick. “Very good, Sam. You’ve done your research. I know of a spell or two that could help you there. Unfortunately, that would take a considerable amount of time to prepare, and that’s only when we’d acquired the problematic ingredients. And given your mother’s situation…time is of the essence. So, I wouldn’t advise that. But, due to recent events, there is now one other way for you to bring back your mother to safety. It’s not ideal, but the spell would work.”

“Okay, wait—before we get into all that,” said Dean, “how can you know any of this? You say you spied on us or whatever, so you know about what we’ve been up to and that Mom ended up in the Apocalypse world, fine. But how the hell can you know if she’s still alive?”

“Dean, don’t say—”

But Sam stopped mid-sentence when his brother lifted his hand to hear Patrick's answer.

“I understand you must be skeptical,” said Patrick. “But all I have is my word that I wouldn’t suggest this if I didn’t know it would work. So here it is, Dean: I know for a fact that your mother is alive and what I am suggesting will bring her back in one piece to you.”

Scanning his face like he was trying to discern a lie, Dean whispered, “How? How can you possibly know this?”

“I have my ways. I’ve been around for a while. I discovered a trick or two that permits me a glimpse on the other side.”

“Show us,” said Sam.

Patrick pursed his lips. He hesitated for a moment, clearly considering the option, but finally shook his head. “I’m not going to do that, boys. I know it sounds harsh, but believe me when I say it’s for the best. I need you clear-minded for the spell. Do that and you’ll see for yourselves within the hour.”

A heavy silence dropped around them. Sam shifted on his feet, while Dean, his eyes glued to Patrick, couldn’t help but shape his hands into fists.

Castiel and Jack, who until then had remained quiet, exchanged concerned looks. Wishing to help move this discussion in the right direction, Castiel stepped forward and said, “Tell us more about the spell you are proposing.”

“Well, the good news is that the spell doesn’t really create a portal. At its core, the spell is to return something or someone to their proper dimension.”

“So, she’d just teleport or something? Like a summoning spell?” asked Sam.

“More or less, yes. But it’s trickier than that. Namely because this, here, might not be Mary’s ultimate destination.”

“What—what do you mean?” asked Sam.

“How? Of course, this is where she belongs. She is from _this_ universe,” said Dean, aggravated.

“Dean. Wait, he—I think he might be right.”

Confused, Dean turned to Castiel. “What? Cas, my mom didn’t come from another universe.”

“And that’s not what he’s implying,” continued Castiel. “She is from this universe, but she has once belonged to another dimension: heaven.”

“And there would be grounds to argue that she still technically belongs to it,” said Patrick. “Which complicates our situation.”

“Heav—that’s not another reality. It’s just—”

“A dimension,” said Patrick. “Realm. Call it what you want, it falls under the same category. Sub-category, perhaps, but it’s relevant enough to be considered.”

Dean scoffed, thinking it was ridiculous. One look at Sam, however, made him suddenly panic. “No, it can’t be. Heaven is not like Charlie going to Oz or the place where our life was a TV show.”

“Why not?” asked Sam. “I mean, think about it, Dean. Hell does have gates and portals, same as heaven. A spell was needed to open purgatory, and you used a portal to get out of there. I mean, my head hurts just thinking about it, but I guess I can see how Mom might be in the grey area.”

“But she’s breathing!” snapped Dean. “How can she end up in heaven if she’s still alive?”

“We’ve visited hell without dying.”

“So, what then? We get Mom out of that Apocalypse world just so she can get stuck back in heaven? What’s the point of that?”

“ _Stuck_ in heaven?” said Patrick. “Would you prefer she stays where she is? Believe me, she isn’t enjoying her stay.”

That last comment might have been too much for Dean, as he started launching at Patrick, who didn’t move a muscle, feeling completely unthreatened by him.

But before things escalated, Dean was quickly stopped when Castiel, with firm, yet gentle, grip, took hold of his arm and held him back.

Dean took a deep breath and nodded at him that he was fine.

“I apologize for that last remark,” said Patrick. “I didn’t mean to make it sound so crass. I’m just trying to fully explain the situation, so there are no surprises. But I think I know a way to counter it. Tweaking the spell will bring another set of adjustments, as it always unfortunately does, but that won’t be too extreme.”

“And what does that mean?”

“She’ll cross over to our dimension, but she may not appear right in front of us.”

Not exactly the answer they were hoping for, but if all they had to do was to track down Mary, assuming she wouldn’t reach out for them first, this outcome greatly outweighed the alternative.

“What do we need for the spell?”

“First, since the spell is like an emotional plea, it must be performed by three people who have a personal connection to the target. All three spell casters must also have set foot in the dimension their target is trapped in. Furthermore, if we’re talking ingredients, I’ve brought the minor ones with me, like herbs, graveyard dirt, and so on. You three, however, can provide the most crucial ones. We need blood of not one, but two relatives of the person we are bringing back, and we need the hair of someone who’s recently travelled from a different dimension.”

“The Empty,” said Castiel.

“Exactly. As for altering the spell, a tiny bit of grace from a fallen angel should do the trick. And voilà. And by the way, in case you were wondering why I didn’t come to you with the spell sooner, he’s your window of opportunity right there,” he said, pointing at Castiel. “Without feathers providing the grace, the third player and the hair of a recent traveller from another realm, there would be no way for you to perform the spell.”

This was good news.

Even if it still felt incredibly _convenient_.

“Great. Let’s get started,” said Sam, who seemed satisfied with this answer.

Dean, however, didn’t like the idea of weakening Castiel, especially since he had just been returned to them safe and sound. It didn’t seem fair to him.

As though Castiel had read his mind, Dean felt Castiel’s hand gently rest on his shoulder, as he stepped by his side. Castiel gave him a firm nod, thus stating that he didn’t have an objection in the matter.

He then turned his attention to Patrick.

“Now that we know the specifics of the spell, what about your price? I imagine you want to be compensated for your help.”

Dean had to fight down a smirk forming itself on his lips.

“What I ask in return is a favour. Or two.”

“What is it?” asked Sam.

“There’s something else I need to say about the spell though—” Patrick began saying, trying to redirect the conversation, but was quickly interrupted by Castiel.

“Tell us what you want.”

Patrick shifted on his feet.

“You heard him,” said Dean.

Patrick briefly hesitated, until he finally said, “All right. It was brought to my attention that witches are getting killed at an impressive rate and in a very sadistic manner. And before you say ‘they’re only witches and they must have deserved it,’ I can assure you that the ones I knew absolutely did _not_ deserve such a treatment, let alone death. They kept out of trouble. Never bothered anyone. They did nothing that could warrant that sort of fate. So, I followed the trail and it led to a Mr. Arthur Ketch, who appears to be highly motivated to find none other than Rowena MacLeod.”

Sam, Dean and Castiel looked at each other, extremely confused.

“If you wanted us to help you locate them because your trail went cold, I’ve got bad news for you: we can’t,” said Dean. “Because they’re both dead. Have been for weeks now.”

“The trail is anything but cold,” continued Patrick, “and I know that they are both alive. I even caught sight of one of them just yesterday. Less than an hour before I called you.”

Sam frowned. “No, that—that’s impossible. Rowe—Ketch is dead. They are both dead.”

“I killed the bastard myself,” bellowed Dean.

“Guys, it’s called magic. I assure you that they are both alive.”

Dean let out a sigh of exasperation.

“The first thing I ask is that you capture Mr. Ketch and bring him to me. Alive. Given his recent activities, I think it’s high time I have a word with him. While I’m sure I could hold my own against a mere mortal, regardless of his profession, I do not wish to take unnecessary risks, either.”

“Which is why you’re asking us to do it for you.”

“If you’d be so kind.”

“I’m guessing there’s a deadline? Something insane, like, tomorrow night?”

“No. No, deadline. I only ask that you deal with the matter as fast as you can, which I know you will, considering that Rowena’s life may be on the line.”

They couldn’t exactly argue against that one.

“What’s the other thing you want?”

“An unnamed favour to be collected at any time I desire in the future.”

“That’s a little vague for my taste,” said Dean.

“Well, then it’s a good thing you are not the one I intend to ask this favour of.”

“You just said—”

“I would ask this favour of Jack, not you, or anyone else.”

“Me?”

Jack, who had been utterly silent since they had walked into the rundown building, was suddenly taken aback by Patrick’s request.

“Why? What do you want with him?” nearly growled Castiel.

“And be specific,” said Dean.

“Nothing.” And then, tilting his head, he added, “For the moment.”

“Not good enough.”

“Look, it’s not very complicated. Here, before me, is one incredibly powerful being. If you had lived as long as me, you would know it’s stupid to ignore it. I just thought it would be a good idea to establish a good business relationship.”

“No,” said Sam. “We’ll find Ketch for you, but you leave Jack out of this.”

“Then I’m afraid we have a problem because those are my terms. Ketch and a favour from young Jack. That’s it. And considering what I’m giving you, it’s really not much to ask.”

“Depends on the favour.”

“Sorry. I like having my options open, boys. So, what’s it going to be?”

Feeling disheartened, Sam, Dean and Castiel harbored worried looks, while Jack stood by, wondering what to say.

“We’re gonna need five minutes to weigh this out between ourselves, if you don’t mind,” said Dean to Patrick.

“I understand. Oh, but before you do, I still need to warn you about the spell. It—it’s difficult to explain, especially to those who do not practice magic—”

“Thanks.”

“—but there is a certain balance in the universe to respect. For example, I couldn’t create years out of thin air. I took some and gave some. They were redistributed. What you put out there will come back to you. That sort of thing.”

The group nodded, understanding the concept.

“The same principle applies to the spell. Bringing your mother back to this universe in that fashion will have its own repercussions. It’s why portals are often preferred.”

“Awesome. More bad news. Again, what does this mean, then?”

Patrick turned his gaze to the side, taking a moment to think. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a clear answer because the outcome has never been the same. But the one thing I know is that, for the lack of putting it more eloquently, the price for Mary’s admission is inviting in additional parties as well.”

“Wait—what?”

“Like—so we’ll drag more people in? Who?”

“That will depend on you. How you feel when performing the spell will influence that,” said Patrick calmly. “But typically, what comes out is not harmless and it will definitely latch itself to you, which is why I made a big deal about you guys being clear-minded earlier. You see, the stronger connection you have with the target, the better the spell works, but the _emotions_ attached to that connection will shape the cost.”

“And that’s usually bad.”

“Like an enemy where she is now?”

“Lucifer,” uttered Sam, as dread spread in his stomach.

“Not automatically. It doesn’t have to do with her location but your emotions,” Patrick reminded them. “It’s crucial that you understand this.”

“Okay, so…we let the monster in…”

“Once it’s in, you can do whatever you want. Ignore it. Kill it. It won’t reverse the spell,” said Patrick, understanding where Dean was going with this. “But it will be here because of you and it will seek you out.”

With this in mind, Sam politely requested Patrick to give them a moment to discuss the matter between themselves, and they slowly moved closer to the entrance for a bit of privacy.

“So, team, what are we thinking? Can we trust this nine-hundred-year-old witch or nah?”

“You can say whatever you want, Dean,” whispered Sam, “but I don’t think we’ll have a better option than this one. Not tonight, anyway.”

“Oh, yeah? What about this whole bad juju the universe is gonna spit back at us, huh? What are we supposed to make of that?”

“It was pretty vague,” admitted Sam.

“And I freaking hate it. We always get screwed when people are clear about the details. I’m not super thrilled to find out how this one could backfire on us.”

“Unfortunately, it appears that the only way to find out about the outcome is to proceed with the spell,” said Castiel.

“And at the end of the day,” continued Sam, “it’s Mom. It’s _Mom,_ Dean. I don’t know what this will bring, other than giving us Mom back. Which is the point. And you—you heard what he said…she’s stuck there. With Lucifer and—”

“I know,” said Dean, cutting him off. The thought was enough to make him sick. “I just—I don’t want us to fuck it up. And I really wish we knew what to expect.”

“What about Jack and the favour this witch man is asking of him?” asked Castiel in a concerned tone.

“Yes, thank you!” said Dean, content that Castiel wasn’t overly sold on the idea or Patrick.

“Do you think it is safe for me to accept?” asked Jack.

Sam, Dean and Castiel became quiet. As though they had held an entire conversation silently, Sam eventually said, “We can’t tell you that. You’re the one he will ask. Not us. We, um, can’t agree for you.”

There was a short pause, and then Jack said, with his usual peppiness, “Then I’ll do it.”

Which surprised the other three.

Since they had left Dodge City, a few hours ago, Jack had been rather grim-looking. The incident with the security guard had deeply affected him and it seemed that no matter what the other three told him, nothing appeared to soothe his mind.

The kid felt guilty and was inconsolable for his mistake. So much so that right before Patrick’s unexpected call, they had agreed that Sam and Castiel should return to the bunker with Jack, while Dean finished the hunt.

But, of course, Patrick had changed their plans.

Dean hadn’t been convinced by Patrick’s proposition, but in the end, Sam’s stubbornness had outweighed his. So, he and Jack had loaded the car, Dean and Castiel had taken care of the ghoul, alongside Sgt. Joe Phillips, and a couple of hours later, they had been hurrying to Wichita in the dead of night.

And for the first time since then, Jack finally sounded like himself.

Which was encouraging.

But they also didn’t want to put too much on him.

“Jack, you get that there’s no way of knowing what he’ll ask, right?” asked Dean.

“I know.”

“Personally,” said Sam, “I—I don’t think he’ll ask you to do something that won’t be fair. But even then, it might not be something you’ll wish to do.”

“I understand. But if this can be my contribution to help bring back your mother to safety, I want to do it.”

Regardless of their final decision, Sam and Dean felt an incredible amount of gratitude for Jack in that precise moment.

“It seems that we are leaning towards accepting,” said Castiel.

“Hold on, there are still a few details that need discussing. Like your grace, Cas. I—I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“He said he didn’t need much. And I’m not the only one who has to offer something that might weaken them, Dean. You think I like either of you,” he said, looking at the brothers, “giving out blood?”

“It’s _blood_. Not grace. Which is a hell of difference.”

“I have to agree with Dean on that one, Cas. It’s not the same,” said Sam.

“Your concern for my well-being is appreciated,” he said softly. “But I’ll be fine and Mary is the one we need to worry about at the moment.”

They observed each other for a long quiet minute, and when nobody else brought up another protest, Dean said, “So? Blood. Hair. Grace. And then we get to deal with an unknown potential threat and find that bastard Ketch.” He turned to Jack. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“We won’t be mad if you don’t want to do it, Jack,” added Sam in a kind tone.

But Jack’s answer was the same. “I want to help.”

They nodded at each other, having reached their decision.

“So, how the hell do we do this thing?”

Casting the spell, as it turned out, was not complicated at all. It took perhaps a little more preparation than expected, but not by much. Patrick had brought the necessities, as he had claimed, and putting it all together was done rather quickly.

Sam and Dean cut themselves on their arms, dropping some blood, while Castiel did the same for his grace with a small incision to his throat. Despite the fact that he gave just enough for the spell to work, and not nearly enough to cause himself permanent damage, Dean still flinched when he watched him do it.

A fact that was not unnoticed by Sam or Patrick.

Castiel added one hair to the concoction, and all that was left to do was to read the incantation that Patrick had given them.

He reminded them to clear their thoughts as much as possible and to focus on Mary, and the boys began.

As they chanted, red smoke grew before their eyes, turned black, before evaporating once the last word had been read. All three of them felt light-headed, with a metallic taste in their mouths.

And everyone held their breaths, waiting for some indication that they had succeeded.

“How do we know it worked?” asked Sam.

“It did. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here to ask this question.”

“That would have been a good thing to know _before_ we try to do a lethal spell,” pointed Dean.

“I knew you were good,” said Patrick, winking at them.

Since Patrick had already warned them that it was impossible to guess where Mary would cross over, he had promised to perform a locating spell to point them in the right direction.

While they had hoped that she would resurface in the area surrounding North Cove, Washington, as it had been Jack’s birth place—and therefore, close to the rift she had initially used—to their surprise, Patrick informed them that she was near South Dakota State University, in Brookings, about an hour away from Jody Mills’ town.

Finding her location curious, Sam nonetheless immediately called Jody requesting assistance, while Castiel, Dean and Jack thanked Patrick, assuring him that they would get to Ketch as soon as it was humanly possible for them.

And not before long, the four of them were back in the Impala, rushing to South Dakota, eager to find Mary.

Less than an hour after leaving Wichita, however, Jody had already called with news. Despite the early hour of the morning, a woman matching Mary’s description had been found unconscious in the exact area they had mentioned to Jody. She didn’t appear to have any serious injuries and the main concerns were dehydration and exhaustion. By the time Jody caught up to her, and confirmed that it was truly Mary Winchester, she had already been admitted to the hospital and was dutifully taken care of.

“She’s okay, Sam. She’s going to be okay. I—I need to hang up the phone, but I promise I’m not going anywhere until you boys get here and I’m calling back the moment she wakes up or I have another update. All right?”

Sam, relieved, thanked her on everyone’s behalf and assured her that they were hastily on their way to them.

“No speeding, there, boys,” she added in a warning, yet caring, tone. “I know how you must be impatient to see her, but there’s no need to rush. She’s okay. So, you boys take your time and keep out of trouble.”

Dean wanted nothing more than to teleport to Brookings and see Mary with his own eyes. He needed to see it for himself.

And while he felt a victorious smile formed itself on his lips, he didn’t want to jinx it.

He couldn’t ignore that little voice inside his mind. The voice of reason who was screaming at him that this was too good to be true.

He already had his miracle a couple of days ago when Castiel had returned to them from the Empty. And to call it a miracle—or his win—had been an understatement.

Being handed another one out of the blue like this didn’t feel right to him.

No matter how much he hoped it was true.

So, he comforted himself that Jody was there to watch over Mary, and until they reached her side, he tried to not let the feeling of victory get the better of him.

With this promising news, however, Sam suggested that they stop at the bunker first, since it was on their way, and gather some change of clothes for Mary and themselves, as they were coming from a hunt, too.

Castiel and Jack had, of course, no objection, and while Dean didn’t like to further increase the duration of their trip, he admitted that it was probably a wise decision.

Thus, he decided that they should also take the time to stop at a Gas-N-Sip and fill up Baby right away, so as to minimize the stops in between Lebanon and Brookings.

Something curious occurred at the gas station, however.

As Dean went to get some quick provisions in the store, accompanied by Castiel, they witnessed on the counter screen a news alert reporting mass murders in Topeka. More than a dozen people dead in a hotel.

No lead. No survivor. No witnesses. Bloody.

“It could be anything,” said Dean, once they were back on the road. “Crazy shit like this happens all the time.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to check it out, though,” argued Sam. “We normally would anyway, but just to be sure…In case it’s…you know…”

“Our fault?” hissed Dean.

“Let’s just—before panicking, let’s just check, okay?”

Sadly, their uneasiness only increased from that point on. No additional information about the Topeka murders was found on the radio.

But the word “massacre” was constantly used to describe it.

And then, just as they reached the city limits of Lebanon, they heard of two other incidents, one in Mankato and another in Red Cloud, which were both less than half an hour away from their location.

Multiple murders in a diner restaurant in Mankato. No lead. No survivor. No witnesses. Bloody.

And this time, the word “gnarly” had been used.

As for Red Cloud, it was a double homicide, which didn’t fit the pattern of the other two. But the news anchor had qualified it as “bizarre” and “gruesome.”

And again, no leads. No survivors or witnesses. And bloody.

It wasn’t the generous details they would have preferred, but it wasn’t reassuring, either. If it wasn’t for the fact that Jody was already busy with Mary, which they much preferred her to be occupying her time with anyway, the boys would have called asking favours.

After Dean parked the Impala in front of the bunker, he said, “Let’s just get what we need and hit the road ASAP. We’ll start making calls on our way, okay?”

Since Castiel was the only one who didn’t necessitate a change of clothes, he tasked himself with fetching additional ammunition that Sam and Dean might need, should anything troubling come their way.

As Dean unlocked the door of the bunker, he took a deep breath, and tried once again to focus his mind solely on the fact that his mother was now, supposedly, safe.

That was all that mattered.

Right?

And yet, making his way down the metal stairs, his stomach turned at the idea that they were possibly responsible for so many deaths, and this, only a few hours after they had done the spell.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he tried to not dwell too much on the familiar and homey feeling that typically hit him every time he stepped into the bunker, knowing that there was no time for that now.

Jack dutifully hurried down the hallway to get himself a change of clothes and, before Castiel followed him, Dean noticed the angel staring at him with sad eyes as though he had read his mind. He gave him a shy smile, and disappeared down the hallway.

Dean dropped his duffle bag on the table of the war room and shot a glance at Sam who was standing next to him, worry spreading over his face as well.

After a moment of silence, Sam said softly, “She’s okay. She’s here. Do you regret it?”

“No.”

“Me neither.”

And instantly, the weight on their shoulders felt a little lighter.

“I’ll get her stuff and then—” but Sam did not finish the rest of his sentence. He stared blankly in front of him as though something had caught his attention.

Following his gaze, Dean finally saw why Sam had stopped talking.

The library, the room just ahead of them, had been turned upside down. Books were scattered all over the floor. Chairs, tables and lamps were broken and tossed around.

Someone had sneaked into the bunker during their absence.

Without a moment of hesitation, they both retrieved their weapons, Dean, his gun, and Sam, a sharp knife he had still been carrying, and they approached the scene slowly with caution.

The room was quiet and despite the mess, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary.

As Sam had passed one of the shelves, he saw at the corner of his eye something come at him. He managed to duck just in time before something hit him in the head. But it had been a close call. He felt the blade nearly grazing his cheek.

“Sam! Sa—what—”

Dean let out a hollow grunt, as though someone had punched him really hard in the stomach, taking him by surprise.

A loud thud was heard.

Panicking, Sam jumped to his feet, lifting his own blade, ready to launch at their attacker.

Once he came face to face with him, however, he froze.

He became still as a statue, utterly confused at who he was staring at.

Dean.

But there were two of them.

One Dean was holding a blade against the other’s chest, ready to stab him.

But not any blade.

A blade made of bone. And teeth.

The First Blade.

“You—you did—you came out of—”

With a cunning grin on his face, he said, “Me and company.”

“What do—”

A small commotion was heard to their left and both brothers used this opportunity to break free from their ambush. They dashed to the war room, and for a moment, just as they were reaching for Dean’s duffle bag, it almost seemed to have worked.

But before they knew what was happening, they felt their legs suddenly becoming heavy as cement, only to get tossed across the room sharply by an invisible hand.

With searing pain in his back, Dean had his breath cut off.

Sam, on the other hand, had taken a greater hit than him and was lying on the floor by the wall with his eyes shut.

With difficulty, Dean slowly turned himself on his side, which allowed him to finally gasp for air.

“Sammy!” he yelled as best as he could, once he had spotted him inert on the other side of the room.

A pair of boots stepped into his view.

“I’m sure he told you many times, but…it’s _Sam_.”

And before Dean could do anything else, another Sam lifted his hand and closed his fist in a dramatic manner, while staring down at Dean.

Experiencing the worst headache in the world, as well as a sharp pain all over his chest, Dean slowly felt himself go.

His eyes were closing.

Noises across the room were dying out.

But it stopped.

Coughing for air, he heard an upheaval next to him.

Strong hands immediately pulled him to his feet and away from his assailant, and while he still had his eyes closed, he knew exactly who had saved him by the touch alone.

Castiel.

“Dean, are you okay? Dean. Dean, talk to me.” He eased his hand over his chest, as though he was checking for his heartbeat.

“I—I’m fine,” he finally said with great difficulty, gripping at Castiel’s arms for balance.

When his vision became clear again, he took a moment to appreciate the comforting sight that was Castiel, and then, as panic hit him down to his knees, he looked across the room, wondering if Sam—his Sam—was still unconscious on the floor.

But he was awake and on his feet, aided by Jack who was keeping him steady.

“That hurt.”

Dean’s body instantly stiffened at the words of the other Sam.

He was standing by the entrance next to the other Dean.

And he didn’t look happy.

And then, when a third figure appeared at his side, he felt Castiel stir next to him.

Faint black veins around his wrists and his neck. A bloody trench coat. And slightly burned flesh.

The other Castiel.

And if Sam and Dean’s counterparts looked unsettling, it was nothing compared to how deranged Castiel’s looked like.

The team was complete.


	2. Chapter Two: Meet Team Free Dark

As everyone took a moment to assess the other group, the air became heavy and stale. Staring at themselves, equally loathing the sight of one another.

Although no one had uttered a word on the matter, judging by the looks Sam, Dean and Castiel had exchanged between themselves, the other Team Free Will before them, though not identical, was nevertheless far too familiar for their tastes.

But they remained a mystery to one person in the room.

“Are—are they ghouls?” asked Jack. 

Dean almost had to suppress a laugh. He had to admit that the kid deserved top marks for that deduction. That was, given his limited information, a fair guess.

If only.

Tilting his head, the other Castiel turned to Jack, with the other two following his gaze.

“Ghouls?” said the other Sam in disgust. “Can a ghoul do this?”

He lifted his hand towards Jack, and even without knowing what he would do, Sam, Castiel and Dean shouted simultaneously.

Instinctively, Jack did the same, however, and before anyone could do anything, the three foes slowly levitated from the ground.

Sam and Dean, remembering perfectly the sensation of Jack using his powers against them, took a few moments of respite to grab the first weapon they could get, while it lasted. Something told them that once Jack was done, the retaliation would be full blow.

Sadly, even with guns and angel blades, they were severely _outgunned_ , so to speak.

And sure enough, even though Jack was still pushing the other trio further away from them, the other Castiel suddenly regained control. The next second, he was standing in front of Jack and had gripped his arm, causing him to free the other two. He then brought the palm of his hand to Jack’s forehead.

A flashing light blinded the other three, and Jack let out a short cry before hitting the floor.

Sam, who was the closest, immediately rushed to his side, praying he was okay, while Castiel and Dean could do nothing else but stare in disbelief.

The other Castiel remained standing over Jack’s body, observing Sam, who was frantically trying to wake him up.

“Who is he?” asked the other Sam, as he and the other Dean were finding their footing again.

“Beats me,” said the other Dean, approaching the other Castiel, his blade firmly in hand. “Hell, I was hoping you’d tell us.”

“I have no idea who he is,” said the other Castiel in a nonchalant manner. He and Dean turned to the other Sam, who only offered a shrug.

“Well, ain’t that adorable. You guys have trainee hunters now.”

“A trainee who has super powers,” pointed out the other Sam gravely.

The other Castiel leaned in for a better look, but Sam, who had hoisted him up in the hope of waking up Jack, was awkwardly turning him away from the other Castiel.

Which made Dean and Castiel very nervous. And the fact that Jack was still lying unconscious did nothing to ease their mind.

“Sam, is—is he okay?” asked Castiel with a croaking voice.

Dean felt relief that Castiel had finally asked the one question he hadn’t dared ask himself.

“He’s breathing.”

As the other Castiel was once more trying to see Jack, Sam eyed the machete which had been sent flying in their earlier struggle and was now lying not far from the other Castiel’s feet.

“Go ahead,” he told him. “But it won’t do you any good.”

Sam swallowed hard.

After another look at Jack, the other Castiel said, “Hmm. Just as I thought.”

“What the hell is he?”

“It depends who you ask, I suppose. Many would call him a mistake. An abomination. Personally, I think he’s mildly fascinating.” And then, with utter detachment, he said, “Oh, well.”

And watching Sam clutching on to Jack, desperate to offer him additional protection, the other Castiel lifted his hand, and just as he was about to snap his fingers, the other Sam said, “Wait.”

An air of amusement spread across the other Castiel’s face. His hand still in the air, ready to continue his motion, he nevertheless turned around to face his companions.

“Don’t bother with them. Not yet,” said the other Sam.

The other Castiel lifted an eyebrow.

“That’s not why we came. Did you find it?”

The other Castiel nodded.

And with a disturbing smile on his face, he looked at Castiel and Dean, who were holding down their breath as much as each other, in the hope to keep still and not attempt something stupid like charge at the powerful trio.

And the other Castiel snapped his fingers and instantly vanished with his two companions.

But not before Castiel and Dean were pushed violently against the wall at the other three’s exit.

With his ears ringing and a metallic taste in his mouth, Sam required Dean’s help to stand because of an injury sustained in his right leg. Dean, after getting the wind knocked out of him for the third time in a row, wasn’t too stable on his feet either, but he was determined to get Sam back on his feet. Meanwhile, Castiel was examining Jack, who was still out like a light.

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Sam. “Why won’t he wake up?”

“I cannot say for sure what he—what was done to him, but he appears to simply be in a deep sleep.” Feeling helpless, he shut his eyes and lifted his glowing hand over Jack’s chest, trying to heal him. While Jack still did not open his eyes, he gasped for air and his left hand stirred.

Finding it encouraging, Castiel then cautiously shook his shoulder, trying to wake him as gently as he could. “Jack? Jack, can you hear me? It’s Castiel.”

Dean was about to tell Castiel that disturbing the powerful Nephilim from an induced nap was perhaps not a good idea, only to see Jack slowly open his eyes.

It took him a moment before reacting, until he flinched at the sight of Castiel.

“Jack, it’s me,” said Castiel quickly, wishing to reassure him.

“C—Cas?

“Yes. It’s me,” he repeated softly. “You’re safe.”

“Are they gone?”

He nodded. “Can you stand?”

“Are you alright, kid?” asked Dean.

“I think so.”

He slowly sat up and brought one hand to his head, shutting his eyes for a second.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just feel…tired.”

“Welcome to the club,” said Dean. Satisfied that Jack was okay, he then helped Sam towards the table and pulled up a chair for him.

Sam let himself drop on it and, delicately lifting his injured leg, he sighed in relief once it was elevated by resting on another chair next to him, easing the pressure.

“How’s your leg?” asked Dean.

“It stings a bit. Nothing major. I’ll live,” he said, looking at his bloody jeans.

“I’ll help you with that, Sam,” said Castiel, once Jack had also taken a seat. He carefully pulled the edge of Sam’s leg pant to his knee to get a better look at his injury.

“What about you, Dean? How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.” He waved at them in protest. “I just need a second to catch my breath. That and just process whatever the hell I just saw.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” said Sam, stirring, as Castiel began healing him. “Thanks, Cas,” he said, instantly feeling better. Sensing that Sam’s leg was properly healed, Castiel withdrew his hand and finally sat down next to him.

Dread filled the room as everyone was ruminated on how to proceed. On what had just happened.

And what it implied.

While each of them was ready to begin speculating on the matter, no one was particularly _eager_ to begin that awkward conversation.

Sam glanced at Jack. He was sitting across the table, away from them.

Avoiding everyone’s eyes.

“Jack, are you sure you’re okay?”

Finally meeting Sam’s eyes, he nodded at him. “I—I just don’t understand what happened. Who—who were they?”

“The short answer, I guess, is that they are what Patrick was warning us about. They are the cost of that spell. They—” and the rest of Sam’s sentence died in his throat.

“What’s wrong?”

“The spell. Mom. Do—what if they go after her?”

With shaking hands, Dean reached for his phone and called Jody. Unfortunately, there was no answer. Trying to remain calm, after she still hadn’t picked up after his third attempt to reach her, Dean left her a voicemail and a text message, asking her to, please, call them as soon as possible.

But it wasn't reassuring.

“Should we head over there?” asked Sam, stirring on his seat. “It was where we were heading anyway.”

“And what if nothing’s wrong with Mom and they follow us there?” argued Dean. Running his hands over his face, he took a deep breath. “There is no reason to believe that they know anything about Mom or that they’d want anything to do with her if they did.”

“Dean,” groaned Sam. “It’s Mom and—”

“Patrick said these—that they’d latch on to us.” Dean knew it was a weak argument, but it was the only one he could hold onto that didn’t make him completely lose his mind. “Jody is probably busy. We’ll wait five minutes and see. It’s not like we can do anything if—”

And he stopped talking all together, not having it within him to finish the rest of this sentence.

He knew it. He knew it had been too good to be true.

He cursed himself for believing it, even if for only half a second.

“I still don’t understand who they are though,” said Jack.

“They are us,” said Sam grimly. “Versions of us.”

“I don’t know what I was expecting when Patrick said something—someone—would get sucked into this universe, but that sure as hell wasn’t it.”

“So, you mean…” began saying Jack, as he was pondering on the matter, “that they weren’t monsters. No ghouls or shapeshifters. They were…you. Just from another universe? But that…how can that be? You were so…mean.”

The other three remain silent.

Mean was a kind way of putting it.

“I understand the concept of alternate universes. Different events and choices create different paths and individuals,” he continued. “But I—I don’t—I can’t imagine a scenario that could result with you three being like this.”

Sam shut his eyes, while Castiel and Dean shared a desolate look.

“Jack, remember yesterday when we said everyone makes mistakes?”

He nodded.

“We…we weren’t just saying that because of what happened in Dodge City. We—I meant it when I said I’ve done things I’ve regretted. I’ve made bad choices…to say the least. Sometimes it was an accident, and sometimes… sometimes I should have listened to what people around me were telling me.”

Jack eyed every one of them. “What are you saying? That…that you were once like this?”

“It’s complicated,” said Dean, not believing he had just said that out loud. “I—look, this is a lot and quite frankly, I’m a bit lost myself about all this. But they—these men—us—that we just saw, we were once like that.”

Sam was about to say something but got interrupted by Jack. “Wait, I’m confused. Are they from a different universe or are they simply you from…before? Like time travel?”

Dean paused. He had assumed they were dealing with people from another universe because of the spell, but Jack had a fair point. After all, he had borne the mark of Cain years after Castiel had swallowed the souls of Purgatory. He couldn’t exactly see how both of them could have occurred at the same time, different universe or not. Put that way, time travel, as though their past selves had been plucked from their timeline, made more sense.

Jack’s hypothesis, however, was shortly turned down by Castiel when he said, “Judging by someone’s essence, especially someone I’m familiar with, I’d be able to tell the difference if it was a question of time travel. This was not it. I have never met these men before.”

Dean leaned his head backwards as he remembered his trip into the future. Even Castiel as a human had been able to see it the moment he had laid eyes on him.

“So, they are from another universe,” repeated Jack, trying to follow the reasoning. “What are we supposed to do? Send them back to their universe?”

“Considering how difficult it was to bring back Mom, I have no idea how we can do this now. I mean, short of giving them the spell we used, but that—”

“—wouldn’t work because I don’t think they come from the same universe.”

“What? What makes you say that?”

“Well, first, I don’t think they knew each other. Like,” Sam added, realizing what he had just said, “they obviously know each other but…not like _we_ know each other.”

Dean lifted an eyebrow. “English, Sam.”

“They didn’t know who Jack was. Not one of them. They actually questioned each other about it.” Assessing that the others were still confused, he added, “I mean, they were comparing information to check if the others knew about him or not. I feel like if they were all from the same universe, they wouldn’t need to do that, especially since a Nephilim coming into being alone is not something any of them would miss.”

“I guess, but that’s not really—”

“Fine, what about the timeline, then? We can only speculate, but we all saw that was the First Blade. Meaning the mark. I didn’t see it, but—”

“You can’t wield that blade unless you have it,” said Dean. “Trust me, on that. And what about you guys? Sam, you looked like you were hooked on demon blood and Cas, giving us the finger snap…”

“...suggests when I consumed purgatory souls, yes.”

“You did?” asked Jack.

“Unfortunately,” Castiel said, looking down almost in shame. “I can’t be certain about myself—my other self—because I might be biased, but I feel something was different about Sam.”

“Yes, um, I—I don’t think that was me on demon blood,” he said, avoiding the other’s eyes.

Dean frowned. “Come again? You—he—God! This is getting confusing. We’re gonna have to come up with names for _them_ because this is gonna get old real fast,” he said, nearly groaning. “But anyway, what do you mean that wasn’t ‘you’ on demon blood? He literally tossed us both across the room without moving from his spot. Wait—Eze—Gadreel, then?”

“He wasn’t possessed,” said Castiel. “And he wasn’t Sam struggling with demon blood. I’ve seen it and that was…much more than that.”

“What then? I don’t remember another time when Sam could have done that.”

“Just because it didn’t happen to us, it doesn’t _mean_ it couldn’t have happened to them,” said Sam.

“And what the hell does that mean?”

Clearly, Castiel and Sam had a better grasp on who this other Sam was than Dean, and for some reason, they didn’t want to state it out loud. Dean stared his brother right in the eyes, searching for the answer and when Sam remained silent, he said, “Well, the suspense is fucking killing me. What’s the deal, here? What am I not getting?”

Sam shifted on his seat and Castiel pursed his lips, as though he was politely letting Sam say it himself.

“I—me using my powers,” Sam finally said after clearing his throat. “Like—like I was before.”

Dean, shaking his head, was still puzzled. “Sam, you didn’t have—”

“The powers Azazel gave me.”

“That—that was visions.”

“It started that way. But it wasn’t just that. It wasn’t meant to be _just_ that and you know it. The demon blood was me barely tapping into it. And it—it wasn’t the demon blood that gave me powers. That was just Ruby manipulating me and taking the shortcut to it because yellow-eyes was gone.”

Mark of Cain. Purgatory. Yellow-eyes. Goddamn Ruby.

The very mention of these topics was enough to make Dean sick to his stomach.

This was a trip down memory lane he wanted to avoid at all cost. Not only because it brought back painful memories, but because it fueled his anger as well.

And anger had overstayed its welcome of late.

The miraculous return of his friend had made him feel like a functional human being again and this ordeal was not going to drag him into this dark hole of wrath.

It wasn’t. He wouldn’t let it. Not while Sam, Jack—and now Castiel and Mary—were there with him.

“Dean?”

“I’m just thinking.”

Sam nodded. Evidently, everyone at the table felt heavily drained by the discussion. Castiel, his hands folded in front of him, was watching Dean with attention. Jack patiently waited for the other three to continue their conversation.

And Sam looked as defeated as Dean felt at this prospect.

After a deep breath, Dean said, “So, you were saying that they aren’t from the same universe?”

“Oh, yeah. I, um, I could be wrong, of course, but like I said, I don’t think they knew each other. And I don’t see how they could all exist simultaneously. I know we can’t rely on the timeline, but I just can’t see it. They would have to be correlated somehow…Why would Dean have taken the Mark of Cain?”

“To stop Psychic Sam? God, that sounds like a bad joke.”

“Boy King,” said Sam.

“Excuse me?”

“Boy King of hell, not Psychic Sam. I’m, um, pretty sure that’s how Azazel had worded it. Unless it was Ruby? I don’t know anymore.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean continued, “Fine. Since we’re handing out names, then I suggest Deanmon and Godstiel for the other members of…what? Team Free Dark?”

Sam let out a grim laugh. “Sounds about right.”

“Awesome. Now that that’s out of the way, I don’t get it, either. Actually, even if they are from different universes, I still don’t get it. Cas, unless Godstiel just digested the souls of Purgatory, how in the world is he still standing after all this time? Weren’t the Leviathans destroying your vessel?”

“The complication crossed my mind as well. I don’t know how, but it appears that he—Godstiel—found a way around that.”

“That’s super unsettling.”

“What I’m having difficulty understanding,” said Castiel, “is that if they didn’t come from the same universe, and therefore don’t know one another, as Sam suggests, why were they together?”

“They’re us?” said Sam simply. “If I found myself in another world, I’d trust you guys over anyone else.”

“No matter how deranged we can be, it seems.”

“What I’d like to know,” said Dean, “is what on earth are we supposed to do now? Shoving them back into their respective universes is a no-go apparently, so what then? We kill them? Us? How? We barely managed when we had to deal with them separately. How are we supposed to deal with them all at once? Just now,” he added, lifting his arms, “the only reason why we’re still breathing is because they decided they had better things to do. As much as I’d like to make them eat their words,” he paused, letting out a sigh, “who are we kidding here?”

“But you did succeed against them before?”

The other three turned to Jack.

“You said it was complicated but you did it," he continued. "So, surely, that means you know how to proceed already. Perhaps if you tell me about it, it would help. I—I’d like to know more, anyway. I don’t know half of those names you mentioned. Like, who’s Ruby? What’s the mark of Cain? How can purgatory souls be a source of power? For what purpose did you use them?”

Feeling the frenzy building within him, Dean stood up, grabbed his phone and hastily headed towards the hallway leading to his room.

“Dean.”

“I’m fine, I just—you give him the history lesson. I—I’m gonna go check the rest of the bunker to see if anything is missing or something. Actually,” he then added, when he came to a halt right before turning the corner, “I’ll check on Jody, and text me Patrick’s number. I have a few questions to ask.”

And he hurried down the hallway.

After a long pause, Jack asked, “Did I say something wrong?”

“No. It’s just…we have a lot to cover.”

While Jack listened attentively to Sam, down in the deep corners of hell, Team Free Dark, as Dean had named the deranged trio, was making its way to the throne room by slaughtering nearly everyone in their path.

Gaining access to hell wouldn’t have been a hassle for the Boy King on any given day with his powers. He also knew every single entry available to him.

Nevertheless, he had to admit that having Godstiel by his side, who didn’t require an actual door to access hell, had its advantages.

Armed with the most powerful celestial being and a ruthless killing machine made the task of invading the place far less complicated than he had believed.

And also, most enjoyable.

Of course, as the Boy King made his way down the dark hallway, stepping on the sticky, bloody floor, he became quickly aware that this hell was different than his own. At first glance, it wasn’t as crowded, nor was it as loud.

He wouldn’t say that the place was quiet. The usual screams of terror were still very much present.

But it didn’t bring the usual sinister vibe of the place he had grown fond of, where he could practically taste despair and smell the dread.

This hell, it seemed, had a serious lack of management.

Word on the street was that Lucifer was gone, not only from hell, but from this very earth as well.

An interesting fact, thought the Boy King.

One less thing to worry about.

Additionally, it appeared that most of the heavyweight players had been long defeated as well. Including a certain demon named Crowley, who Deanmon and Godtsiel had warned him about. The Boy King had no idea who that was, but it didn’t matter. The so-called king of hell was dead.

The only potential threat that was left, it seemed, was actually Asmodeus. Which was very fine with the Boy King. After all, he was very acquainted with the Princes in his world and, surely, the least threatening of the Princes of Hell wouldn’t be a problem.

While Deanmon was busy slicing souls in half, as he whistled a joyful tune, the Boy King was killing demons with a stolen angel blade, with the help of Godstiel, as they were both trying to spare their powers for the moment. The Boy King needed to be full strength for Asmodeus, and their departure from the bunker had taken its toll on Godstiel.

That and the gift Team Free Dark had given to the town of Lebanon. Which had been impulsive, perhaps, but not regrettable.

As they had cleared most of the hallway, the Boy King took a moment to catch his breath. Deanmon, who had been crushing someone’s skull, stood up, holding his blade in one hand and something bloody in the other.

“What’s that?”

“A jaw, I think.” He then uncaringly let it drop on the floor. “How much farther is that damn room? All this killing is building my appetite.”

“Almost there,” said the Boy King.

“This Asomo-douche better be worth it.”

When the trio finally reached the throne room, the Boy King was surprised. Without the presence of his siblings—and of other low-life demons attempting to make themselves relevant, thus practically offering him the throne—it seemed that Asmodeus had gained a boost of confidence.

There he was. Sitting on a throne. Unbothered. And wearing an impeccable white suit. Some might say, almost stealing the Boy King’s signature bit.

“And what do we have here?” said Asmodeus, adopting a dramatic pause at every word. “Do my eyes deceive me or have you boys undertaken some bold alterations since we last saw one another?” He paused and then added, finally understanding, “You three aren’t from around here, are you?”

“Not really, no,” said Deanmon.

“Hmm. So, is this your surrender?”

“Funny. On your end, maybe.”

“We just want to talk,” said the Boy King.

“I would have believed that if you hadn’t murdered your way in here. But you did.” Asmodeus’ eyes turned yellow and numerous demons barged in, surrounding the trio. “So, I think, I know what you intend on saying.”

“If you think surrounding me with demons is supposed to scare me, you really don’t know who I am and what I can do,” said the Boy King. “So chill or—”

“Or what? You’ll kill demons? I do not wish for it to get to this, but I have some to spare.”

“Kill demons?” said the Boy King, laughing. “Why would I kill them when I can just use them?” And without blinking, he lifted his arm and gave it a quick wave. Every single demon in the room, except Asmodeus, of course, instantly broke formation around them and turned simultaneously towards the last Prince.

The Boy King opened his hand, not breaking eye contact, and the demons charged at Asmodeus.

That was when things got interesting for Team Free Dark, however.

Just as demons were about to tear him off his throne, quite unexpectedly, every demon around Asmodeus turned into a pile of dust at his feet.

Stunned, the Boy King squinted at him.

“What did you just do?” Deanmon asked Godstiel.

“That wasn’t me. It was him.”

Aggravated, Deanmon twisted his blade in his hand. “I thought you said you could take him,” he told the Boy King.

“I can,” he hissed at him, as he watched Asmodeus brush the dust off his suit. “This is—how did you do that?”

Sitting comfortably on his throne, he said, “We all have our talents.”

“Yeah, and this ain’t one of yours.”

“And how would you know?”

“Oh, trust me, _I know_. And what you just pulled, no demons—princes or knights of hell—can do that.”

“Maybe they can, here," said Deanmon. "Maybe this Asmodeus is different than yours. Ever thought of that?”

But the Boy King wasn’t having it. “I don’t care which world he’s from,” he told him, “that’s way above his pay grade. Something isn’t right here.”

Godstiel then stepped forward with his head tilted to the side as he studied the demon.

“You’re right, Sam. Not solely regarding demon abilities, but there is something off about this demon.”

It was at that moment that the Boy King flinched, feeling a blinding pain to his head as images of a large syringe, containing a glowing substance, filled his mind.

Once he was back to normal, he couldn’t help but let out a short laugh.

“That’s how. Wow, I gotta say, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

With this new piece of information, the Boy King decided that they ought to change their strategy. Thankfully, he had come prepared.

“Look, we honestly didn’t come here to quarrel.”

“Yes, you came here to talk, as you said. Is this the part where you say, ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend?’”

“We could. Hell, down the line, I’m pretty sure it will come to that. But that’s not why we’re here.”

Godstiel and Deanmon turned their eyes on him.

“And what is it you want specifically, then?” asked Asmodeus.

“We’d like information. Like you said, we’re not from around here and it came to our attention that we are in dire need of a recap. We can find out a lot on our own and fast. But there are…certain obscure details we’d rather not get wrong, if you know what I mean.”

“And what do I get in return?”

A curse box appeared at Asmodeus’ feet.

“We’re open to negotiations. Of sorts,” added the Boy King.

As Asmodeus picked up the box to examine it, Deanmon seized the Boy King by his shoulder.

“What are you doing? We needed that.”

Grinning at him, the Boy King whispered, “Not anymore, we don’t. And it’s far more beneficial for us if _he_ has it than us.”

Before Godstiel or Deanmon were about to protest, Asmodeus shut the box firmly and said, “What is it that you want to know?”

And with his smile widening, the Boy King shot a satisfied look at his companions. He nodded at Godstiel to proceed.

Taking a step forward, he said, “To begin, what can you tell us about the Nephilim?”


	3. Chapter Three: Bait

While Sam and Castiel were giving Jack a crash course on their biggest failures, something that Dean was incredibly grateful to not be subjected to, particularly on that day, he called Jody, seeking a much-needed update on Mary’s state.

He also took it upon himself to call Patrick and share his displeasure regarding the morning’s turn of events.

“I warned you about this.”

“Yeah, thank God you weren’t super vague on the details because that would have been too much to ask,” scoffed Dean, leaning against his bedroom wall.

“I was very clear about the risks and that it is never possible to predict the outcome. And might I add, the spell _did_ work. Has your mother crossed back here or not?”

Clenching his jaw, Dean breathed deeply through his nostrils. “As far as we know, _yes_. But this complicates things. Way more than I thought. Which is why—I—”

“Yes?”

“Look, I—I hate to do this, because I know we haven’t kept our end of the bargain yet—and we will—but I—can you—since we’re all on the same side here, can I ask you to make sure those lunatics don’t harm her? My mom, I mean. Please? She’s with a friend of ours, and not that they can’t take care of themselves, but I—if I know they’re safe…”

Silence.

“We’ll get Ketch as soon as we can. That was the deal and nothing changes that,” Dean added. “But, um, we also can’t ignore this mess. I mean, see it this way: if we die, we can’t capture the bastard.”

There was a long pause, which did not help Dean’s nerves.

To his relief, however, Patrick agreed to help him again and promised to join Mary and Jody once their phone call ended.

After thanking him, Dean expected the typical quid-pro-quo, but all that Patrick said was, “You’re welcome.”

Dean knew it was very unlikely that the witch wouldn’t ask for something in return later on, but for now, he contented himself with the fact that Jody and Mary would be safe.

“Anything else?” asked Patrick.

“No. Unless you know how the hell we’re supposed to contain these monsters?”

“I agree with Sam,” said Patrick. “The spell is no use against them since the context, connection and—well, just about everything is different here. I can see what I can come up with, but in the meantime, you should ask yourself why this happened.”

Dean made a face.

“I can’t tell if you’re being an asshole or not. It happened because of the spell, of course.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. Why did _this_ outcome happen? I told you, it’s impossible to predict, but there’s a reason _why_ the price manifests itself in a certain way and it’s always linked to emotions.”

“You’re talking like the spell is trying to teach me a freaking lesson.”

“Of course, it’s not. It’s a spell. But that detail is important. It always reveals something about the spell casters and given what came out at the other end…I wouldn’t take it lightly.”

Feeling his brain turn to mush due to exhaustion, Dean said, “I really don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“You will, sooner or later, Dean. Until then…”

“Yeah. Thanks,” he scowled. “Bye.”

Dean hung up his phone and shoved it in his pocket. Still leaning against the wall, he crossed his arms over his chest and took a look at his surroundings.

Much like the library, his bedroom was a mess. It was as though every item had been tossed around. Books, vinyls, weapons, clothes, and so on. Even his furniture had been mishandled.

And while nothing appeared to be missing, the scene before him was of small comfort.

It wasn’t the first time that intruders had found their way into the bunker. Some had left clear evidence of their trespass, while others had tried to remain undetected. The British Men of Letters, including Arthur Ketch himself, had just pulled such a stunt on them not that long ago, actually.

So much for a secret bunker.

But even if unexpected _guests_ barging in on them wasn’t a new concept, bunker or not, Dean was getting tired of the unscheduled coming and going. He had grown to view this place as his home, the first home since early childhood. It was his sanctuary. And the idea that other people freely waltzed in without difficulty was hitting a nerve.

Discouraged, and fatigue catching up on him, Dean suddenly felt his legs and shoulders becoming heavy.

A soft knock then came from his right.

Castiel, standing in the doorway, assessed the disorderly state of Dean’s room.

“Have they stolen anything?”

Dean shook his head. “Don’t think so. Is Jack caught up?”

“I don’t know. I left it to Sam. I went to check the other rooms of the bunker to get a better picture of the damages. And to look for you.”

Their eyes finally met.

“Me? Why? I’m fine.”

Determined to sell his lie, Dean stepped away from the wall and began picking up his belongings from the floor, thus giving himself an excuse to not look at Castiel. He doubted that his friend would be easily fooled by this obvious attempt of deflection, but when Castiel remained quiet and simply joined him in his task, Dean was grateful for the short respite.

And for his friend’s help and understanding, of course.

Soon enough, the keepsakes and records were put away, the furniture was back in place, and Dean’s room had more or less returned to its initial state.

And Dean reciprocated a shy smile to Castiel as a thank you when he handed him the last flannel shirt.

As Dean shut the drawer, he took a deep breath, bracing himself for what would come next now that this part was behind him. He turned around to face Castiel.

One look at him and Castiel said, “You look terrible.”

“Thanks,” said Dean, almost laughing.

“I mean, you seem tired. Perhaps you ought to lay down for a while.”

“Can’t. We don’t have time.”

“Dean—”

“I reached Jody and Patrick,” he blurted out, changing the subject, as he exited his room.

Castiel sighed, but followed him.

“How’s your mother? Any change?”

“She’s okay. According to Jody though, she was a bit confused about her whereabouts and that, um, apparently created a situation.”

Castiel came to halt. “In what way?”

“She got a bit nervous with people around her, like she wasn’t believing that this was real. I—I mean, I can’t really blame her. I’m having difficulty believing it and I did the spell so…And we don’t know what happened on the other side with Lucifer and—” Dean bit his lips to stop himself from finishing that sentence. “Anyways,” he said, after clearing his throat, “once she saw that Jody was there, and she explained to her what we did, that seemed to have helped. So, just a few check-ups and Jody said that she’ll get her out as soon as she can."

“Good,” said Castiel, genuinely relieved.

“Yeah, and when I spoke to Patrick, he agreed to keep them company until we take care of the situation.”

“That’s nice of him. Was that why you wanted to speak to him?”

“In part.” Dean began walking down the hallway again. “I was also hoping he would know what to make of this mess because I sure as hell don’t. I have no clue how we’re supposed to stop them, just like I don’t know what they want. Like, let’s take the bunker. If they came here to tear us a new one, what was the point turning this place upside down and why leave so abruptly when they could have easily ended us right there and then?”

“I can’t say for sure what their intentions were about us. But I know they were after something in the bunker. Nearly every room has been searched and is in disarray.”

This was news to Dean. “All of them?”

“Nearly, yes. That’s how I knew something was wrong on our arrival, in fact. I went to fetch additional ammunition, as I had said and was shocked to find the room—and the ones next to it—vandalized, not just disorderly. The door had been broken down, weapons had been melted or turned to dust. That’s when I rushed back to the war room. Had I been a second too late…”

A grim expression spread across his face.

Dean stopped him, gently seizing him by the arm. “You weren’t. And you wouldn’t have been.”

And after holding his stare as long as he dared, Dean let go of him and continued walking. “So, um, what does that mean? We have no weapons left?”

“Very few.”

“Awesome. Wait,” he added, frowning, “you said something about them stealing something. Why? What makes you think that? They could have done all this just to slow us down. I mean, all those weapons gone is royally pissing me off, but there wasn’t anything unique in there. Just regular weaponry. I can’t see what would have been worth stealing.”

“I don’t know if their vandalism was simply due to their search or was intended to cover their tracks, but they did retrieve something. Sam—the Boy King—stopped Godstiel at the end. He said, ‘That’s not why we came here.’ And then he asked him if he ‘had found it.’ I don’t know what it was, but they clearly stole something and leaving with it was evidently more important than finishing us off.”

Dean let out a deep sigh. “I feel like an idiot. I totally forgot about that.”

“Well, the entire exchange was a lot to process. And personally, I think it has much more to do with your lack of sleep than intelligence, Dean.”

And there it was again.

“Cas—”

“When was the last time you slept?”

“I don’t know…Dodge City? A day or two ago? I have no idea. I’m—never mind that for now. What about—what do you think they took?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” said Castiel after mildly glaring at him. “The untidiness complicates this clarification, and that’s assuming it was something I knew of.”

“Did you check the entire bunker?”

“Every room except those in the basement. I was on my way there but I heard you speaking on the phone.”

“All right,” said Dean. “Let’s go check it out and while we try to figure out what they stole from us, I’ll tell you the other stuff Patrick mentioned about the spell because I can’t make sense of it.”

Their conversation was cut short, however, when they reached one of the storage rooms.

Not unlike the other rooms, it had been turned upside down. Artefacts, papers and so on were scattered everywhere.

Despite the mess, Dean, after he and Castiel had put most of the curse boxes back in their designated spots, quickly noticed that at least two curse boxes were missing.

With the records shredded to pieces, Dean was unable to tell at the top of his head which boxes had been stolen.

If anyone would know this detail, however, Castiel and Dean were convinced Sam would be the one.

So, once they inspected the other rooms for good measure and that nothing else appeared to be missing, they decided that it was time for them to return to Sam and Jack.

Without running, they hurried down the hallways, and as they finally approached the war room, voices became discernible.

“He missed him.”

“Yeah. He did. We—we all did.”

Thinking Sam was still discussing the attack, Dean froze on his spot, not turning the final corner, and listened with Castiel by his side.

“But like I just told you, none of this was your fault, Jack. I’m sorry you heard that and Dean shouldn’t have said it.”

Dean frowned. Did Sam mean Deanmon or him?

A glance at Castiel told him that he was equally puzzled.

“It’s not an excuse, but you have to understand,” continued Sam, “losing Cas, after everything they—we went through—as you _now_ know, it was too much for Dean. In a way like I’ve never seen it before.”

Dean’s stomach dropped and he immediately shifted his gaze away from Castiel.

“But that’s why I wanted to help,” said Jack. “So he wouldn’t be mad at me anymore. Like you told me: to make an effort. And it seemed like everything was going to be better when Castiel joined us. Dean was happy. Finally. But then I ruined everything in Dodge City. I proved that Dean was right all along. I’m glad I had the chance to contribute something to help Mary, but then we arrived here and I—I failed again.”

Dean couldn’t decide what was worse. That Jack was unfairly beating himself up for _their_ failures? That he verbally expressed genuine concern regarding Dean’s well-being when Dean had done the complete opposite? Or that Castiel now knew about his poor behavior against Jack since he and Sam had taken the kid under their wing, or even the fact that Castiel had gotten wind of how embarrassingly broken up he had been about his death?

Feeling blood rush to his cheeks, Dean didn’t dare glance in Castiel’s direction.

“Jack, you didn’t fail,” said Sam. “You were there with us. And I promise that Dean isn’t mad at you. And now that Cas is back, I’m thrilled that you’ll get to know him _and_ see who Dean really is when he’s not, um—”

“Angry? Sad?”

“Grieving. Yeah.”

Now determined to end the conversation before he died of shame, Dean cleared his throat and said, “Bad news,” as he entered the war room with conviction.

After all, there were more important things to tend to at that moment.

So he told himself.

Especially when he could still feel Castiel’s stare on him.

“Two curse boxes are missing. Two that we know of, anyway.”

Defeated, Sam shut his eyes. “Which ones?”

“Dunno yet. The whole place was trashed so there’s no way of knowing which ones they took.”

“The records—”

“Are toast.”

“We have copies.”

“Also destroyed.”

“The copies of the copies, then.”

“What?”

“I—I made copies of the copies.”

Dean let out a short laugh. “Of course, you did. Okay, that should help. That won’t stop them from using the damn things though.”

“One thing at a time,” said Sam. “Did you call Patrick like you wanted? What about Jody?”

As he had told Castiel, Dean informed Sam and Jack of his phone calls. Unfortunately, they were equally left underwhelmed by Patrick’s comment regarding the spell.

“All right,” said Sam, sighing. “I’ll get my backups, and while we figure out our next move, maybe we can do some research on where they went next?”

“Considering the bloody trail of destruction they seem to leave behind everywhere they go, I have a feeling it won’t be subtle,” said Castiel as he took a seat at the table.

“I’ll do it,” volunteered Jack. “Sam, may I use your computer?”

“Knock yourself out. It’s in my bag. Here, I’ll—” but Sam paused when he noticed Dean had already slid the laptop in front of Jack for him to use.

“Thank you, Dean. I may require a few pointers on what to look for though.”

“I’ll help you,” he said, pulling a chair next to him.

Jack smiled brightly at him and lifted the cover, eager to do his part.

Still resolute to avoid Castiel’s eyes, Dean nevertheless caught Sam staring at him with a smile at the corner of his mouth.

Eyes now on the computer screen, he said, “Sam. The boxes.”

“Right. I’ll be right back.”

It turned out that Castiel had been correct with his assumption. It didn’t take them long to learn that at least three other massacres, similar to the ones that had occurred earlier that morning, had been reported in three different states. One of them in a church, one at a business center, and another one at a hospital.

As horrible as this was, however, what shook them to their core was the news about Lebanon. The entire population of the town had inexplicably dropped dead.

No sign of foul play.

And no one could say why.

The citizens had simply died, out of the blue.

“Why are they doing this? The bunker. Us. _This_. What—what’s the endgame?”

Castiel thought for a moment and then said, “I’d like to think that they want to cross back to their worlds, but that’s probably wishful thinking on my part.”

“God, if only.”

“Even if we know what they want and find their location,” said Jack, “how can we stop them?”

That was an excellent question, which neither Dean or Castiel had an answer for.

As they waited for Sam’s return, Dean and Castiel helped Jack compile a list of odd occurrences from all over the country, in the hope of gaining some insight on their maniacal counterparts.

Which felt like a strange and pointless thing to do considering the foes in question were _them_. A _version_ of themselves, maybe, but still them. By definition, they should already have all the information needed.

But the more their search deepened, the more Dean’s confusion increased.

Wondering why Sam was taking his sweet time to come back, Dean then felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

The caller ID gave him pause, and then he quickly brought the phone to his ear. “Hey, what’s up?” He listened carefully, then stood up, and said, “What? What do you—where?” There was a short pause. “Son of a bitch. Okay. You need to leave. Yes, go back home. Like now. Just turn around and—that’s it. I’m serious. All right. I’ll call you on the way and explain. Thanks. Yes. Bye.” He hung up his phone and said, “Everyone pack your crap. We’re out of here in ten.”

“What? But why—what happened? Who was that?”

Dean, opening his duffle bag to double check his gear, said, “Donatello. He said that he woke up in the middle of the night because of a massive headache. Guess when that was?”

“When we did the spell.”

“Yahtzee.”

“Is he okay?” asked Jack.

“He’s dealing. The headache made him hit the floor for a while, but as soon as he was vertical again, he picked up some weird energy compelling him to pursue it or something.”

Castiel gasped. “Like when Jack was born. Which means he knows where to find them.”

“It seems so. He said that he’s been driving around all this time trying to keep up with it, which makes sense considering they’ve been all over the place. But he said that he’s getting closer to it now, and he figured it was about time to let us know.”

“Where are they?” asked Sam, who had at last returned into the room.

“Finally! What took you so long? What did—”

“It’s gone. All of it. So I can’t—where are they, Dean?” he asked in a pressing manner.

Dean swallowed hard. “The only place they really shouldn’t have gone.” He then grabbed his gun and said, “They’re in freaking Lawrence.”

Although Donatello hadn’t given Dean a specific address, the brothers had no doubt that Team Free Dark was waiting for them at their old home, and therefore, had also no intention to simply stand by. They wanted to act now.

Much to Castiel’s dismay.

He understood their frustration and their sense of urgency. The death toll was growing at an excessive rate, their current home had just been invaded and partially destroyed, and the fact that the individuals performing these crimes not only looked like them, but _were_ them, was utterly unsettling.

But none of this changed the fact that this new location spelled one thing: a trap.

And what was doubly worrisome to Castiel was that Sam and Dean were aware of that possibility, and still wanted to rush over, guns blazing.

Wishing to set recklessness aside, he suggested that he and Jack go as a recon mission first.

“That way, perhaps Jack and I can handle the situation a little more objectively. Meanwhile, you can continue gathering additional information as a whole from here, perhaps learn what they stole or if they took something else.”

“Like we’re going to let you two go on your own against them?” protested Dean angrily.

“I’m not planning to engage—”

“No, Cas! This is personal now. Like, they crossed the line and then some.”

“I’m aware, but—”

“Cas, I’m with Dean on this,” said Sam. “We know this is probably bait, but we can’t do nothing. And it wouldn’t be fair—or prudent—to let you go on your own. What if that’s the outcome they are hoping for? What if the trap is to lure you and Jack? We barely have a shot against them, if you two are out…” He took a deep breath. “We go and we go together.”

It hadn’t been surprising to Castiel that Sam and Dean had immediately shut down his idea. The boys weren’t known for having a _mild_ stubbornness, among other things. But they weren’t delusional either, so he hoped that, at least, his comment and the near four-hour drive to Lawrence would offer them the opportunity to come up with a proper plan of attack.

Thus, between calls to Donatello, who confirmed that the energy had remained in the same location and that he had turned his car around as Dean pleaded with him to do, the four of them strategized in length on their way to Lawrence.

Unfortunately, as they were spit-balling ideas, they knew that besides good timing and luck, not much could help them gain the upper hand in this situation.

Not even after Patrick’s phone call. Now that Patrick was aware that Team Free Will 2.0 was rushing to face their opponent, it considerably restricted his _already_ limited options to help them. Castiel appreciated that the witch attempted to discourage the boys from this sudden confrontation, especially when he mentioned that Mary, whom he had joined, had been asking about them. Using Mary had been a bit cruel, but also clever, thought Castiel.

But just like they had done to him, the brothers rebuffed Patrick’s suggestion.

So, he proposed an alternative: “Given the short notice, all I can say is that if you can’t kill them, slow them down. Weaken them enough to capture them. If you can do that, I may have enough time to whip out a solution by then. But for this scenario to work, it would be infinitely easier for everyone if they were contained instead of having to chase after them. Surely you lot must be able to accomplish this? It was why I sought you out in the first place, no?”

Feeling the weight of this task on their shoulders, they nonetheless thanked Patrick, some in a grimmer manner than others, and promised an update before saying goodbye.

And by the time they finally arrived in Lawrence, they had settled on a plan.

Divide and conquer.

Starting with Deanmon, Sam and Jack were to subdue him, while Castiel and Dean would try to gain the upper hand on the other two, or at the very least, distract them long enough so Jack and Sam could apprehend Deanmon. And then they would move on to the Boy King, and at last, Godstiel.

Not the most original plan, nor the strongest, especially once their opponents were taken into account, but it was better than nothing.

Before leaving, they had rounded up quickly everything they thought could be of use, and unfortunately, even with the trunk’s artillery, they were ridiculously outmatched.

A pair of demon cuffs. Three bottles of holy water. A bag of salt. Ruby’s knife. Angel blades. Iron chains, which had been soaked in salt and holy water.

And a decent number of guns, loaded with freshly made devil’s trap bullets.

Those were their best options against the evil trio.

They were confident that every item would be useful against the Boy King and Deanmon.

The only problem was Godstiel.

As Castiel remembered very much, the sole reason why Sam and Dean had been able to help, and ultimately save him from himself all those years ago, had been because he had surrendered himself to them.

They hadn’t vanquished him, nor had they even managed to slow down his schemes and murderous rampage, though not from lack of trying.

No, it had been because Castiel, in a moment of clarity, had finally accepted to listen to his friends.

And something told him that such an event wouldn’t be the case this time around.

But they also had an advantage they didn’t have last time.

Jack.

It wouldn’t be easy, and Castiel worried that it was a lot to demand of him as well, but Jack was their glimmer of hope against this mighty adversary. With him at their side, their plan didn’t seem implausible.

And for the most part, Castiel was right.

Little did he (and the others) know, however, that _another_ player had been invited to this showdown and unfortunately said player would greatly complicate their plan.

Since attempting any element of surprise seemed rather pointless, given that the team had been purposely lured there, they simply turned onto their street and parked the car right in front of the house.

Just like the street, it was quiet and appeared to be empty. 

No car was parked in the driveway.

No broken window. No ajar front door.

Nothing suspicious so far.

But the street sounded almost too quiet, thought Castiel.

Stepping out of the car, he watched Dean staring at the house before them, while Jack assisted Sam with last-minute weapon preparations.

Perhaps it was because of the circumstances in which he finally set eyes on the Winchesters’ old family home, but Castiel couldn’t help but find it to have a gloomy vibe.

Knowing the tragedy that had taken place there probably didn’t help, either.

Dean hadn’t moved or said a word since their arrival. He had simply stared at the upper level window. Fists were forming.

“Dean?”

He finally snapped out of it, seemingly remembering what they were there for and turned to Castiel. “Everyone ready?”

Castiel nearly had to supress a laugh.

The act of pretending that everything was okay. Or ‘peachy’ as Dean would say.

Pure deflection.

Denial.

Like always.

Castiel was tempted to comment on it. He knew he should have done so a long time ago. Every time it occurred, even earlier on that same day, when Dean had lied about not being tired, Castiel had let it slide, thinking he was being respectful.

If Dean wanted to avoid a topic of conversation, due to discomfort or otherwise, Castiel believed that nagging him into it would get him nowhere.

Dean would be Dean and he would say something when he felt like it.

But Castiel had to admit that ignoring the problem hadn’t produced many results either, especially since he had overheard Jack and Sam’s conversation earlier that morning.

He had a lot of questions.

And Dean had been exuding panic since then.

Given the pressing situation though, Castiel reasoned that it was better to leave the matter for a better time.

So, he simply nodded at Dean, as Sam and Jack handed them additional gear.

But one day, soon, thought Castiel, he wouldn’t let Dean brush things off that easily.

They quickly agreed to split up. Sam and Jack were to cover the front door, while Castiel and Dean were to find entry by the patio door.

Sadly, this was the moment when their careful planning went out the window.

As they advanced towards the house, all four of them suddenly froze when, barely having stepped onto the grass, they heard a high-pitched piercing cry coming from inside the house.

They exchanged a worried look, almost wishing they had imagined it. But the screams started again.

“Please! Stop! I—I—I’ll help, but— _please_!”

The next thing Castiel knew, Sam dashed across the front lawn screaming something indiscernible. Stunned at his reaction, Castiel and the other two followed him. By the time they had reached the porch, Sam had already burst through the door—not without difficulty—and was yelling inside.

Following the screams to the kitchen, the other three soon realized Sam’s sudden panic.

Deanmon, standing behind none other than Rowena MacLeod, was holding her tightly with his blade on her throat, while the Boy King had his hand over her forehead.

“Oh, you guys made it, finally,” said the Boy King, amused. “I told you they can’t teleport.” And then, as though he wanted to test another theory, looking at them with a giant grin on his face, he shut his fist, causing Rowena to let out a short sob. Tears were running down her face, and while no bruises or cuts were visible, the terror and pain in her eyes and cries were unmistakable.

“Let her go!” yelled Sam, cautiously approaching with his gun pointed at them.

“Or what?”

And without hesitation, Dean fired at both Deanmon and the Boy King.

And both bullets had somehow ricocheted.

Although this approach might have been incredibly reckless, it nonetheless surprised Deanmon enough to momentarily loosen his hold on Rowena. Not wasting one moment, she managed to free herself from her captors, and as Sam and Dean charged in against Deanmon and the Boy King, she ran directly towards Castiel.

Trying his best to protect her from additional harm, he stepped away from the fight with her, while glancing nervously back at the kitchen. Jack had joined Sam and Dean.

“Rowena? What are you doing—are you all right?”

Her lip trembling, she nodded at him. “They snatched me right off the streets. I—I couldn’t do anything. I—I thought they were—”

“I know. We know.” Glancing at the kitchen, he saw Deanmon’s blade miss Jack by a hair. The Boy King blocked every shot, swing, punch that Sam and Dean threw at him. The bullets had merely pissed them off. With the situation only escalating, Castiel said to Rowena as quickly as he could, “Help us stop them if you can, if not, leave for your safety.”

And before she could reply, he ran towards the fight, twisting his angel blade in his hand.

It was in that instant, however, that Godstiel decided to make his entrance. The next thing he knew, Castiel hit the wall hard. Lying on his side and feeling heavy, he twisted himself to the left to have a better view of the scene. Dean was next to him, his eyes shut tight as though he was working through the pain of a stiff body. Sam, however, was lying on his back, not far from them. His chest was moving, which was a relief, but he had a massive cut above his left eye and he wasn’t giving more signs of life beyond that.

Dean tried to say something, which Castiel was sure to be Sam’s name, but no sound came out. He immediately reached for his throat and winced the second his fingertips touched it.

And Castiel felt fury building within him.

He looked at the rest of the room. Rowena was nowhere to be seen, and to his horror, Jack was now left fending for himself against the trio.

For a second, he almost believed he had a chance.

His eyes were glowing gold, and with his hand extended in front of him, he was slowly pushing back the Boy King and Deanmon with his powers.

Godstiel, on the other hand, remained perfectly grounded. He and Jack remained motionless for what felt like a long time, until Godstiel pushed back, and took a step forward, and the other two as well.

Desperate to help Jack, Castiel hoisted himself up. Dean grabbed his gun, wanting to follow suit.

The Boy King then yelled, “NOW,” and with one finger snap by Godstiel, everything became still.

Everything was quiet.

No one was moving.

For one short instant.

Just long enough so everyone present in the room would know what was happening.

Then, slowly, Deanmon and the Boy King each held onto Godstiel’s arms.

At first, it seemed as though they were trying to gain stability to counter Jack’s power. But then, their hands resting on Godstiel began to glow. The radiance spread throughout his entire body, and in one swift move, he brought his hands to Jack’s temples.

And the room turned into a bright light.

It only lasted a second.

And once the light had dimmed, Castiel’s heart stopped at the sight of Jack on his knees.

Blood was coming out of his mouth and he looked like a faint breeze would be the end of him.

Still unable to move, he watched Godstiel, holding him by the wrist, turn to Deanmon with a delighted expression. “Your turn.”

As easy as cutting soft better, Deanmon grazed his blade along Jack’s cheek. Just enough to see what would happen.

Jack winced and a thin red line was now visible on his cheek.

With a satisfied grin, Deanmon lifted his arm, ready for the lethal slice.

But a faint blue shield wrapped itself around Team Free Dark, rendering them paralyzed.

Rowena stepped nervously into the room, holding a gold and green talisman, as she chanted an incantation.

Castiel then felt the invisible force keeping him still dissipating, until he regained full control of his body. Whatever Rowena was doing, considering the anxious looks she was giving him and Dean, Castiel gathered that she wouldn’t be able to keep at it for very long.

So, he and Dean needed to act quickly.

Eager to check on Jack though, they first gently attempted to help him back on his feet. But the moment they reached for his shoulders, Jack screamed, giving them both a scare. Still howling, even though neither of them were touching him, he was rocking back and forth, hitting himself on his chest. His eyes were becoming brighter and brighter. The lights in the room brightened, until some light bulbs shattered.

Distracted by Jack’s state, Rowena’s enchantment faltered for a moment, enough for Godstiel to free himself from it. 

Just for one second, before Rowena regained control over him.

The quivering in her voice was not reassuring, however.

Without uttering a word, Dean and Castiel exchanged a look and understanding each other, they nodded firmly.

Castiel handed the cuffs to Dean, who then grabbed the iron chains that had been tossed around the room in the surging chaos. Still armed with devil’s trap bullet, all this combined ought to make it easier to restrain the Boy King and Deanmon.

But they wouldn’t go far without Jack when it would be time to deal with Godstiel. So, while Dean, after checking briefly on Sam, who was still unconscious on the floor, was wrapping the chains around the Boy King, Castiel took care of Jack.

He kneeled in front of him, and as gently as he could, he seized his hands to prevent him from hitting himself again.

He was resisting Castiel’s hold, but at least he was no longer screaming and the lights, like his eyes, had slightly dimmed.

“Jack? Jack, it’s me. You’re okay.”

And Castiel felt his pull finally die down as well. He stared at him, like he was assessing his surroundings. They both watched Dean on their right tugging the Boy King away from the group. He was securely bound and even gagged, and the moment he was separated from his friends, thus no longer under Rowena’s spell, he tried to fight back by stirring and twisting himself, but with great relief, it was without success.

Dean briskly shoved him to the ground, pleased that he couldn’t go anywhere, and moved on to their next assailant, Deanmon.

He took a second to observe him. Castiel had no idea what Dean was looking for, but soon enough, he retrieved the cuffs from his pocket. Regrettably, that was when their luck ran out. Just as Dean was about to wrap the cuff around his wrist, Godstiel finally overpowered Rowena.

The shield vanished into thin air and both Deanmon and Godstiel turned to Dean.

Not knowing what else to do, Dean fired at them again, which only increased Godstiel’s anger, especially when he noticed the numerous bullet wounds on Deamon’s chest.

Castiel and Jack jumped to their feet, but it was too late.

Godstiel, with a simple wave of hand, had already healed Deanmon. It was as though nothing had happened.

And then, despite Castiel calling his name, Dean took a step towards Deanmon and rested his gun directly against his forehead.

“Do you think you can heal this one?”

And a finger snap was heard.

Car alarms were wailing. There was this distinct odor of burnt tires and wood.

For the umpteenth time over the past few days, Castiel lifted himself from the ground, unsure of what had happened.

Godstiel and Deanmon were gone.

The Boy King was exactly where they had left him.

And while Sam was still out, his friends were safe and sound, including Dean who kept rubbing his chest, apparently surprised by this fact.

Which made no sense.

Suddenly bothered by the smell and rumpus outside, Castiel, along with Dean and Rowena, headed out to see what was the commotion all about.

He almost regretted finding out.

The entire neighborhood was in ruins.

It was as though a tornado had passed through, followed by flood and wildfires. All at once, in a blink of an eye.

The puzzling part was that only two things had remained intact.

The old Winchesters’ house.

And Baby.

Everything else had been burned, broken, torn down and so on.

Why had they spared the house?

Why had they spared them?

Sensing Dean stirring next to him, Castiel asked, “Perhaps I'm mistaking, but does it seem like they do _not_ want to kill us?” 

“I wouldn’t put it off the table just yet. I just think it’s not their priority right now.”

“That is not comforting.”

“I guess the good news is that we can have answers now.”

Castiel stepped away from the horrifying scene and glanced at the Boy King.

Their plan had failed.

But they were still in one piece and they weren’t coming back empty handed.

He watched Jack, who was seated next to Sam, trying gently to wake him up, and just as he was about to call for him, Rowena stepped into his periphery and yelled, “You boys better tell me what in the bloody hell is going on?”

This ought to be an interesting conversation, thought Castiel. One that Sam should definitely be part of.


	4. Chapter Four: Know Thyself

When Sam finally came to, he was, for the lack of a better word, rather vexed that he had missed most of the confrontation.

Definitely grateful that, as far as he could attest, everyone, including Rowena, had survived to tell the tale—and bonus, they even had managed to capture one of their opponents—but vexed nonetheless that he hadn’t been able to help the others.

It wasn’t that he believed their win would have been greater had he participated in the tussle, but at least he wouldn’t have felt pointless. The beaming faces of Dean and Jack staring down at him when he awoke, however, told him that he shouldn’t dwell too much on that fact.

After a quick catch up on what he had missed, Sam, much like the others, was at a loss on where to proceed from there. Team Free Dark’s actions weren’t adding up and questions were multiplying by the second.

But he wasn’t the only one who had a lot of questions.

Rowena did as well.

What the hell had they got themselves into? Why had she been dragged into it? Who was Jack?

Where was Fergus?

A hush fell around them as they exchanged brief, anxious looks.

Knowing there was probably a better time and place to inform Rowena of Crowley’s fate, Sam also didn’t want to lie to her.

But before he could answer truthfully, typical of his brother, Dean decided to change the subject.

“Where have you been, Rowena?” he asked, almost in an accusatory tone. “Why is Ketch after you? How do you know him? What did _they_ want with you? And we thought Lucifer had killed you! How are you alive?”

Mentioning Lucifer, it turned out, had been a mistake.

Her demeanor instantly changed. She wasn’t throwing at him angry looks, but there was something dark in her eyes, filled with pain and fear.

She opened her mouth, as though she was about to say something, but shut it tight quickly. She swallowed hard, ran her hands on her velvet navy blue dress, and said, “I’d really like to leave this place as soon as I can. So, one of you better tell me what is going on here.”

So, keeping it as short as possible, Sam told Rowena about the spell. If she had any opinions on the matter, she kept it to herself.

She did have an _idea_ on how to stop Team Free Dark, however.

It was quite simple, actually: to trap the trio within an object, magically altered so it could be strong enough to contain them. Much like the jar that had contained the Wicked Witch of the West, or even the soul-filled the crystal-bomb meant to be used against Amara.

“How long would that take?”

“A few hours, at least. But—I—I already have on me some of the rare ingredients that I would need, but not all of them. And if we decide to use a crystal, which would be better, I’d have to alter it because they have bod—I—to be sure that it could work, I’d need something unique. I—I don’t have such a thing with me. And I doubt you have it in your bunker, either.”

Considering most of everything had been destroyed, Sam couldn’t really argue against that.

“Where could we find it then?” asked Dean.

After a short discussion, Rowena and Team Free Will 2.0 agreed on a new plan. They needed to get the crystal and other rare herbs, return to the bunker to get started on the spell, and secure and interrogate the Boy King, who was still tied up and unconscious on the floor.

The good news was that Rowena knew of a witch who lived in Emporia, nearly an hour away from Lawrence, who could potentially have the necessary items they so desperately required.

The bad news was that time was of the essence. The bunker was a few hours away, and that wasn’t including their pit stop to Emporia, so they needed to move quickly. The good news was that because Rowena always kept certain ingredients with her, for safety measures, she could whip up a teleportation spell for them.

It would mean, however, that the Impala had to remain here.

And if Sam knew anything, it was that Dean wouldn’t let that happen.

So, it was decided that since Dean didn’t wish to leave Baby behind, he was to drive back to Lebanon with a mild detour to Emporia first, while the others, with the aid of Rowena, were to teleport back to the bunker to get started on the spell and deal with the Boy King.

At Rowena’s instructions, Sam and Dean prepared the concoction for the teleportation spell, and when everything was ready, Sam and Jack, holding the passed-out Boy King, with Rowena by their side, were standing on the sigil that Castiel and Jack had drawn on the floor, as they faced Dean.

And, unsurprisingly to Sam, Castiel as well.

Confused to find Castiel standing next to him, however, Dean said, “All aboard, Cas. See you there in a few hours.”

But Castiel took a step back. “I’ll keep you company for the drive home.”

Dean blinked. “You don’t have to. I don’t mind driving on my own. All I have to do is drive and pick up a couple of things. With the spell and that psycho on our hands,” he said, pointing at the Boy King, “they’ll probably need help.”

“We’ve got the situation quite in hand, darlings,” said Rowena.

“Cas staying with you is actually not the worst idea, Dean,” said Sam. “What if the other two corner you? I’m not saying it will make the fight balanced, but a little more than if you’re on your own. And I don’t know about you, but I’m about to drop on the floor due to exhaustion. When’s the last time you slept?”

Sam was sure that Dean had many counter arguments already lined up for him to use.

But thankfully, after a short hesitation, and a glance at Castiel, he gave them a firm nod, admitting defeat.

They promised to keep each other updated, and Sam, with Jack, Rowena and the Boy King next to him, watched Dean and Castiel vanish from his sight, as he felt a tingling in his fingers and toes, only to suddenly find himself standing right outside the bunker.

Meanwhile, Deanmon was quietly sitting at a bar, enjoying a bottle of whiskey. The karaoke music was playing in the background and no one but him was enjoying the tune.

No one was singing. Or dancing. Or talking. Drinking or laughing.

When he reached the end of the bottle, humming, he stood up and walked over a few corpses lying on the floor to go behind the counter, not caring one moment that he was stepping in a thick and sticky pool of blood.

After a short examination, he reached for one of the top shelf bottles, his hands still stained with blood.

“I see you were busy.”

Letting out a short laugh, Deanmon turned around and stared back at Godstiel, who was admiring his bloody work dispersed all over the floor.

“I did what I came here to do,” he said, pointing at the First Blade, resting on the counter, next the second curse box and a small pouch. “And then, I felt like celebrating,” he continued, pouring himself a drink. “I was ready to give the performance of a lifetime, but one thing led to another and people got really carried away.”

After downing his drink, Dean then took notice of Godstiel’s general appearance. The left side of his coat was stained by blood and he was holding something metallic that looked like a drill.

“How was heaven?” He picked up a second glass from behind the counter, poured liquor into it and slid the glass forwards.

Godstiel dropped what he was holding on the counter and took the seat Deanmon had been occupying a moment ago.

“Unimpressive, I must say. The gates of heaven were shut, like you had stated they might be, so I went to the portal—the sandbox you spoke of—and from there…well, it was disappointing.”

“How so?”

“I thought I’d need to charge in and wreak havoc once more. I was expecting a bit of resistance, which I admit, would have been amusing.” He tilted his head, as fine dark veins spread on his neck for a second, only to vanish as soon as they had appeared.

“What happened then?” asked Deanmon. “Complete surrender? No resistance?”

“Oh no, there was. But it was embarrassing. There are nearly no angels left. The plan of seizing control of heaven seems rather pointless when its value is practically nonexistent. It will most likely fall very soon.”

“Heaven? Heaven is going to power down?” He drank his other drink.

“Eventually, yes. But for now, it will hold. I did alter a few things though. Including the current management.”

“And who would that be?”

“A certain Naomi.”

Deanmon let out a groan of disgust. “I thought she was dead.”

“Well, she certainly is now. You know her?” asked Godstiel, intrigued.

“Don’t you?”

“Seemed vaguely familiar,” he said nonchalantly. “But no. I suppose I didn’t cross paths with her in my world. That or I killed her without really paying attention. Either way, she’s dead here now.”

“Good,” said Deanmon. “So, that’s her you’re wearing?” He gestured at the stains of blood on his coat. “That’s not yours, is it?”

Staring at him for a second, Godstiel said, “Is that concern for me, Dean?”

“Don’t get all mushy. Just curious.”

Focusing all his attention on his drink, Deanmon could feel the penetrating stare of Godstiel, which he was determined to ignore.

He had always been annoyed by the angel’s ability to reach deep within him. To make his presence—essence— known with only a stare.

Halo or mighty celestial being, that was one of the few things that never changed, no matter the world, it seemed.

Cautiously lifting his eyes, their gazes met.

There was a long moment of silence, until Godstiel finally answered, “It is partially Naomi’s blood. But not just hers. I made a few pit-stops before joining you.” He retrieved from his pocket a small pouch, identical to the one on the counter.

Lifting an eyebrow, Deanmon said, “You got them all, already?”

“No. Only the third stop was fruitful.”

“Which means we’re still short a few items. I only could find two of them.”

Deanmon sighed and gulped down his drink again.

“What’s the matter?”

“Following orders,” he groaned. “I’m behind the plan and all, but it feels…I’m getting bored of this.”

Smiling at the corner of his mouth, Godstiel picked up the First Blade. It fizzled in his hand as he examined it a moment and then extended his arm, handing it back to Deanmon. “Then let’s make it interesting. You get to handle the next stop.”

“Whatever I want?”

Godstiel nodded.

“You _are_ getting mushy on me.”

And before they both left the bar, Deanmon twirled his blade and smiled, as he felt a rush spreading in his chest.

And his eyes turned black.

Without wasting a moment, Sam and Jack had carried the Boy King to the dungeon on their arrival, while Rowena took it upon herself to perform additional protective charms to the surroundings.

“It’s not perfect and only temporary, but this should last long enough.”

With the Boy King now safely restrained, Sam decided to help Rowena get started on the spell. They wouldn’t be able to finish it until Dean and Castiel’s return, but based on what Rowena had explained about the spell, there was still a significant amount of preparations to be done before the most important part.

As she consulted one of the books from the library, which took much longer to locate than Sam would have preferred due to the room’s disorderly state, she listed a few ingredients that they would need. With Rowena’s private stash and what had survived from Team Free Dark’s destruction of the bunker, they were still a few ingredients short.

But no matter. They promptly called Dean and Castiel, who had yet to reach Emporia, and simply added those few missing ingredients to the detailed list Rowena had given them before they parted ways.

“Is this going to create any delay?” Sam asked Rowena, after he hung up the phone.

“No. Thankfully, those ingredients are only required for the later part of the spell, when the crystal will be needed. We will only be able to carry this to a certain point though. So, even if the lads make good time, we will have to exercise patience for an hour, at the very least.”

Sam nodded as he took a deep breath.

“May I ask a question about the spell?” said Jack.

Rowena nodded.

“I—I confess that I don’t entirely understand how a crystal can trap the—um, the others. I know it’s magic, but once the spell is complete, do they magically end up in the crystal or do we have to trap them in there? And if so, how? I—I don’t understand.” He turned to Sam and said, “I—I’m sorry. I know I should have asked earlier, but I—everyone seemed to understand the plan, so I thought it was unimportant and that—that I should wait until later to ask.”

It wasn’t until that moment that Sam realized that this was the first time Jack had spoken since he had himself woken up from the kitchen floor back in Lawrence.

He hadn’t witnessed Team Free Dark’s attack on Jack, but it probably was even more terrifying than how Dean and Castiel had described it to him.

And it had been a perturbing tale to hear.

Twice now those bastards had teamed up against him.

The bunker attack had had its effect on him, but Sam had gathered that Jack, despite being slightly shaken and confused, had returned to his regular self by the time he had given him a brief history of their past mistakes.

And while he appeared unharmed back at the house, Sam could now clearly detect a certain edginess about him, so much so that he felt guilt spread in his stomach for not having spotted it before.

“No worries, laddie,” said Rowena. “It’s quite all right. The answer is that after the spell is completed, the crystal will be a tool to use to trap those—them. They’ll be like in a pocket universe, of sort. A small one, unable to cause harm, reach out to anyone or break out.”

“Like the cage?” asked Sam.

With an awkward look, Rowena nodded. “More or less, yes.”

And suddenly, Sam knew exactly _why_ Rowena had been able to find them such a quick solution when Patrick was still supposedly cogitating on the problem.

“But you will still have to _trap_ them,” she added. “You will have to say an incantation—just a few words—and be physically close enough to them for it to work. And when all three of them are trapped, there is a final formula to cast, and that should ensure that it is sealed.”

Since the Boy King was already accounted for, all they had to do was to catch up to the other two. And even if the deranged duo greatly outmatched their strengths, it was still four against two. 

Plus Rowena, of course.

It would be tricky, but Sam felt hopeful. When he shared his views to Rowena, however, he learned that it would be a little more complicated than that.

According to her, once the spell was completed, only one person would be able to use it. “You boys need to pick a champion between yourselves, and he alone will be able to trap the foes.”

So, while the odds were still favourable, it wouldn’t be without its share of issues.

As usual.

Moving along with the preparations, Jack and Sam had gathered everything they needed, to begin the spell in the library, while Rowena had already begun blending certain of her ingredients together.

And Sam could feel his anxiety growing by every moment.

What Rowena was doing was important, if not crucial, to their success, but other things needed his attention as well.

Like the Boy King.

Sam wanted answers.

The bunker. Lawrence. The massacre. The boxes. Jack.

He wanted to know what they were planning.

He also wished to learn more about their adversary. They knew who they were dealing with, of course, but there was still a lot that left them guessing. Like how Godstiel had managed to keep control over the Leviathans? What exactly were the abilities of the Boy King? And what had happened to the others?

What had happened to the Boy King’s brother?

Perhaps it was mostly due to his personal curiosity than a strategy point of view, but Sam needed to know. And if it would give them intel on how to gain the upper hand on Deanmon and Godtsiel, then he wasn’t going to argue about it.

Thus, slowly backing away from the table, where Jack was eagerly handing dark green herbs Rowena had requested, Sam said, “You two seem to have this under control. So, um, I think I’ll leave you to it and I’ll go check on the prisoner.”

He turned on his heels and was immediately stopped when Rowena objected to his idea.

“Hold on, there, Samuel. There are still a few things I need to know.”

“Right. And, um, we’ll get to that shortly, but I really should check on our prisoner first.”

“I—I should go with you,” said Jack.

But Sam shook his head. “You stay here with Rowena.”

“But I can help.”

“I know,” said Sam earnestly. “That’s why I’d like you to assist Rowena. Everything is fine, he won’t go anywhere. It’s perfectly safe. Okay?”

Jack didn’t seem convinced at first, but he then nodded at him, and grabbed the metallic spoon to continue his task.

Rowena wasn’t so keen on Sam brushing her off, which he had to admit was rather unkind considering she was helping them at this very moment.

“I was hoping I’d get an explanation about…well, everything while we take care of this.” She hadn’t said it in an irritated tone, but Sam knew that there were limits to her patience.

And he remembered that she still hadn’t said why the trio had captured her and based on the part of the conversation he had managed to hear, tormenting her had not been their main goal.

So, after instructing Jack to continue his good work, Sam and Rowena left the library and ambled down the hallway.

He was sad to learn that, not unlike every piece of information they had managed to collect about the villainous trio so far, what Rowena had to say about them didn’t make much sense, either. They only asked her about the location of two individuals whom Rowena had never heard of: Charles Page and Peyer Oberwetter.

Sam had no idea who they were, either.

“Did they say what they wanted with them? Why did they think you would know?”

Rowena shook her head.

“They just kept repeating the same question over and over, like I was supposed to know. I repeated that I didn’t know, which I really don’t. When they didn’t believe me, I—I started to tell them that I could find them for them but they wouldn’t hear any of it. I—I just don’t understand.”

“You’re not alone.”

Adding this to the list of inquiries to pursue, Sam then answered a few questions Rowena had for him. Telling her what had happened to Crowley had been an incredible difficult task, but it made the revelation of Jack’s identity even more awkward than it already was.

It was clear that whatever Rowena’s hypothesis had been, this hadn’t been the expected answer. Her eyes widened and her entire body stiffened. She looked to either side, as though she felt like something threatening was about to attack her.

“Look, I know how it sounds,” he pressed on, “but I swear he’s okay. He’s not evil. He—he just needs help to control his powers. That’s what we’re trying to do. To help him.”

“Helping the son of _Satan_ ,” she whispered. “Who tortured me, killed me—twice, no less—and is responsible for all our demises. Yours and my son!”

“It’s a lot,” admitted Sam. “And I get why you wouldn’t be, um, comfortable with Jack, but please, don’t judge him for who his father is. He’s nothing like him. You saw him just now. And do you believe I would willingly leave you with him if I thought he was a danger to you?”

Rowena pursed her lips.

“No. I know you wouldn’t.”

Relieved by that fact, he then added, “Just get going with the spell while I talk to _other me_ , and I swear you’ll see how kind and helpful Jack is. If at any moment you feel uneasy because of him, just send him my way, okay?”

While she still wasn’t particularly thrilled at the idea, Rowena nonetheless accepted to give Jack a chance at Sam’s request. Sam promised to not be gone for too long, and watched Rowena turn on her heels, before heading in the opposite direction.

Walking down the hallway leading to the dungeon, Sam checked his phone quickly to see if Dean and Castiel had any news, but there were no notifications. He debated on calling them for an update, but then decided that he should simply get the interrogation over with, first.

That way, perhaps, he would be able to share pertinent information with the others.

Carefully approaching the doorway of the room, Sam could discern the sound of chains wiggling about.

Their prisoner was now awake.

He paused at the entrance.

The Boy King was stirring on his seat, trying to adjust himself as best as he could despite the chains keeping him in place.

And when he sensed Sam’s presence, he lifted his head and stared at him with a cunning smile on his face. Sam shut the door behind him, crossed the room while not diverting his gaze from his other self, and came to a halt right at the edge of the floor’s devil’s trap.

Noticing his position, the Boy King said, “You know that does nothing to hold me, right?”

“I took it into consideration, yeah. But it still doesn’t hurt to be extra careful.”

“Hence the medieval chains and all that.” The Boy King studied the room for a moment and then added, “I’m sensing sigils and additional spells, too. Ro’s doing or yours?”

“Ro?”

“Red. _Dearest_ , Rowena.”

He had said it almost in a fondly manner.

Sam had no idea why, but the Boy King’s familiarity with Rowena was surprising to him. Almost unsettling

“You know Rowena in your world.”

“And then some, yes.”

Sam frowned. “You’re with her? Like… romantically?”

“ _Was_.”

“Bad break-up?”

“The lethal kind.”

Sam blinked. He knew the answer wouldn’t be pleasant to hear, but he asked anyway. “What happened?”

The Boy King tilted his head as he sighed deeply. Like this conversation was now boring to him. But he still answered.

“Simply said? I had outgrown her, she didn’t take it well, so I made sure to get my point across.”

Sam had had issues with Rowena over the years, and while there were still a few things he wouldn’t necessarily trust her blindly about, after everything they had been through, there was at least a certain understanding between the two.

And she had been helpful. Even if on many occasions she hadn’t exactly done so out of the goodness of her heart, especially at the beginning, she still had been helpful.

As she was in that exact moment.

“Page and Oberwetter. Who are they and what do you want with them?”

Silence.

“Why did you think Rowena knew where to find them?”

Silence.

“Why refuse her help to locate them if that was your goal?” he asked, trying to remain calm.

“Is that what she told you? Hmm. Interesting.”

“So, she’s lying?” said Sam, unconvinced.

“That surprises you?”

“If that’s the case, then prove it. Tell me what you wanted with her. You went through the trouble of finding her and bringing her all the way to Lawrence. Why?”

Silence.

“What did you do to Jack?”

Silence.

“Answer! What did you do to him? What are you—all three of you—what are you all planning?”

The Boy King gave him a subtle smile. “Just trying to make this new place feel…homey for us all. It’s not like we had a choice in the matter. You’re the ones who shoved us in this pitiful place. We’re just trying to make the most of it.”

Sam bit the inside of his cheek. All he had wanted to do was to tell his other self that this would never occur as long as he, Dean, Castiel and Jack were still standing.

But since the Boy King appeared to finally be talkative, he feared that in doing so, it might ruin his best chance to get some answers.

“How—how do you know?” asked Sam. “How do you know it was because of us?”

“We have our ways,” he said, amused.

“Can you be a little less vague?”

“I could, but I don’t really feel like it.”

Staring back at him, with this duplicitous, nonchalant vibe, the very presence of the Boy King made Sam’s skin crawl and his stomach turn.

He knew this was him, but he didn’t recognize this man. Even thinking back on his lowest points in life, he couldn’t place him. This wasn’t self-righteous, demon blood junkie Sam. This wasn’t even soulless Sam. While some of the details were often still fuzzy on the latter, he nonetheless knew there was a difference. The Boy King wasn’t pretending and he wasn’t impassive.

So, who the hell was he? How did he end up like this?

With tense shoulders and worry spreading through his mind, he asked, “And what’s home like for you?”

Chuckling, the Boy King said, “Are you sure you want to compare notes? Based on the little amount of information that I know about you, I already can tell that you’re not going to be pleased by what you’ll hear. Just looking at me seems like a problem.”

“Maybe, but I’m pretty sure I have a good idea of how it happened, actually.” And with a straight face, he added, “I’m guessing that Ruby had something to do with it. Yellow-eyes, too. Lucifer.”

“Oh, you want a culprit. You want to know who ‘did this’ to you. Someone to pin your life’s problems on?”

That wasn’t exactly how Sam would have had worded it, but he remained silent and waited for the Boy King’s answer.

“All right,” he said, after he had reflected on the matter, “I’ll tell you who did this to me. Dean. He did it.”

“What? No, he—”

“Yes, he did. All Dean ever did was to hold me back from my true potential. Dear old John went missing and _Dean_ ,” he said, sighing, “because he couldn’t deal, because he couldn’t do anything on his own, came to Stanford and screwed it all up for me.”

Taken aback by the disdain in his tone, Sam squinted at him. “Dean didn’t do anything wrong. I wasn’t exactly pleased when he showed up unannounced. And I—given what happened—” He stopped mid-sentence before saying something that he would later regret, only to then add quickly, “Dad had disappeared. He was right to seek my help. And what—what happened with Jess, that was never on Dean. Ever.”

“Really? When was the last time that you really felt free? When you weren’t guilted into anything? I’m sure whatever it is you’re thinking of right now, it doesn’t involve Dean.”

“That’s not true!”

“Then tell me when that was? I remember precisely the moment when I was finally free to be myself again. It seemed unlikely at the time. Meg had delivered me to Azazel after possessing me—fun times—but what do you know? No more John barking out orders. No more Dean whining or making me feel like a freak because of my powers. And Azazel helped me. Molded me. And boy, did I thrive.”

“Whoa, what? No. That’s not what happened. I—” Feeling his heart racing, Sam processed the Boy King’s last comment. “Wait, if Azazel to—took you under his wing, you—that means you said yes to Lucifer.”

A smile creeped onto the Boy King’s face.

“Sam, do I look like the leftover of a vessel used by the serpent?”

No, he did not, thought Sam.

“Then what? He had another vessel while you…helped him?”

Rolling his eyes, the Boy King snorted. “Helped him? I _killed_ him.”

“I—what? How? Why—I thought that was Azazel’s plan? Did he change his mind?”

“Oh, no. That was still his plan. But I figured that being Azazel’s and Lucifer’s puppet wasn’t really an upgrade from being John’s. By the time Lucifer—who still needed my consent—was about to rise, it seemed rather silly to me to just agree with that stupid plan. After all, I was powerful. I had an army of psychic kids like me at my disposal, who could control demons. As far as I knew, not even Lucifer could do that. Order them around, terrify and obliterate them? Sure. But so could I. So could all of us. So, I pretty much told Azazel and the rest of Lucifer’s most devout to go screw themselves and waged a war against them. And I won.”

Many questions filled Sam’s mind in that moment. From what had happened afterwards to what was the extent of his powers now. But one question in particular was more pressing.

“What happened to Dean?”

“He went to hell of course. Twice. First time for his dumb deal to save me from Azazel. He should have really chosen his words more carefully there, but live and learn. And when Cas rescued him from hell and joined Dean’s pointless crusade to save me from myself, instead of following heaven’s plan, I took care of them both. I clipped the angel’s wings and I shoved Dean back in hell myself once I became its ruler. I made sure that everyone—and I mean _everyone_ —would understand where I stood. What I was made of. Especially my dear brother and his _bestie_.”

Furious and not believing a word of it, Sam said, “If that’s the case, why are you bothering with Dean now? Or Cas? Why are you teaming up if you can’t stand them that much?”

“Because _they_ aren’t like the ones I knew,” he said in a low voice. “That Dean—Deanmon—I just met a day or so ago, he honestly couldn’t care less if I live or die. He wants to do whatever he wants, without judgment. He’s destruction. _He_ isn’t holding me back or pestering me. _That_ , I can deal with. Same thing with Castiel, even with his over-the-top sanctimonious attitude and weird discharge because of a perverted spell.”

Sam blinked. He then tried his best to hold his stare, hoping the Boy King hadn’t noticed.

And after a pregnant pause, the Boy King said, “Satisfied with my answer? Was that you wanted to hear?”

“Probably not. But it does make something pretty clear: I’ve never been so glad to have Dean and Cas on my side.” He then continued over the Boy King’s laughter. “I look back on my life, and the only times I truly lost my way was when Dean _wasn’t_ around. When he died. When I ignored him. When he—always.”

“Uh-huh. That’s including Stanford?”

Sam pursed his lips.

“Who’s lying now?” snarled the Boy King.

“No. I’m not. I—maybe I was doing well at Stanford, but I still needed him. And he certainly needed me. And Cas…we needed him, too. Like I said, you—all three of you—you’re proof of that. We support each other. We’re able to keep each other in check. We bounce back because the other two are there. _You_ are what happens to me if the other two aren’t there.”

And then the Boy King laughed again. “You really believe that, huh?”

“I don’t believe it, I _know_ it.”

“Well, I beg to differ. The truth Sam is that we’re all the same. We may have different pasts, and we may differ on the surface, but at the core, we are all the same.”

“No.”

“ _Yes_ ,” he hissed. “Dean, mark of Cain or not, is a killer. You know that. He— _they_ know that. And Castiel, a celestial being with good intentions and too much power, that’s a recipe for disaster no matter which side he’s leaning on. It seems that every time he tries to do the right thing, it ends up bloody. And you—”

“I have _never_ been you. Dean might have had the mark and Cas powered up on purgatory souls, but they found their way back, and I have never been… _this_ ,” he gestured at the Boy King. “I—I’ve been a lot of things. Soulless. Broken. Vessel to Lucifer. And so on. But even juiced up on demon blood, and it was already pretty bad, I was nowhere near _you_. I’ve never been the Boy King.”

He remained grounded on his spot, making sure to not cross the devil’s trap, but frenzy and worry was boiling from within.

“That’s where you’re wrong. Unlike Castiel and Dean who had to rely on curses and enchantments of sorts to improve themselves—”

“ _Improve_?” scoffed Sam, cutting him off.

“— _we_ , on the other hand, never had to. Because _this_ is who I always was, and who you were always meant to be. Always.”

Clenching his jaw, Sam glared at the Boy King. “No. This isn’t me.”

“It is, Sam. I’m not the product of an old curse that dates from the beginning of time. Or an amateur angel swallowing millions upon millions of purgatory souls. I’m me. Period.”

“Right. Plus, the demon blood and the—”

“Which you also have, by the way—”

“No,” he said gravely. “No. I—I haven’t…this isn’t like—”

“There’s no erasing that. You know this, right? It’s part of you. Of us. It’s still there. No matter what you tell yourself at night. All you’ve ever done was delay the inevitable. And sure, maybe Dean and Castiel had a part in that, but I wouldn’t put all my eggs in that basket if I were you.”

Officially sick of this conversation, Sam then decided that this wasn’t helping. This interview had done nothing but upset him. He hadn’t learned anything concrete about the Boy King’s plans. Not much about Godstiel or Deanmon, either, including their whereabouts.

He had no idea who Page and Oberwetter were.

Or why the spell had spit out this version of himself.

“What are you planning? You and the others,” he finally said. “Are you trying to get back to your worlds?”

“I told you. We’re trying to make ourselves comfortable here.”

“Meaning what?”

And the Boy King’s answer was a smile.

“Fine. Don’t tell me. In the end, it doesn’t really matter I suppose, since as we speak, we’re working on something to put all three of you away.”

“You manage this all by yourselves?”

“And Rowena. I feel like she’s competent enough to pull this off, don’t you?”

And for the first time, the Boy King frowned at him.

“I’ll let you think on that for now,” said Sam. “And when I return, if you’re in a sharing mood, maybe I’ll make it more bearable for you here. If not, all it will do is take us a little longer. But we always manage in the end.”

He turned on his heels and began heading towards the doorway.

“The only thing you’ve managed to do is fool yourself that you have gained control of this situation, as well as your life. But you aren’t in control.”

Sam froze.

“Surely you must know that after all the struggles, clawing your way out of every dark hole, this is still how your story ends. Your story has been an eternal loop, Sam, because you’ve been stubbornly fighting back. But the madness will continue rushing in until you—or one of you—finally stop resisting. You’re not saving the world. You’re not saving each other. You’re just postponing your tragic end.” 

Sam slowly turned to face him.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know. Because I know what happened to you. I know what happened to Deanmon’s Sam. And Godstiel’s. And it’s all the same. Every time. So, do whatever you want to me and the others, and pat yourself in the back for a job well done. But mark my words, the end result will still be the same. Dead or standing high with the blood of Dean and Castiel on your hands. Always.” And then, still tied to the chair, he leaned forward and said, “ _You_ think about that when you run off to your dear brother and his angel to save your skin.”


	5. Chapter Five: The Truth

When Sam had returned to the library, he let himself drop on the closest armchair out of exhaustion, and Jack and Rowena let him doze off as they continued working.

Jack had liked working with Rowena. She had been very kind to him and she didn’t mind his questions, either.

But he had been very curious to find out what Sam had learned from the Boy King. Which was why, when Rowena told him that they had done everything they could until Dean and Castiel’s return and that he was now free to tend to other things, while she made herself a cup of tea, he decided to check on the prisoner.

Sam hadn’t moved from his spot since, so making sure that the prisoner hadn’t escaped, just for an instant, wasn’t a bad idea.

And up until he stepped in the doorway of the dungeon and assessed that the prisoner was still present and restrained, he had firmly believed that he would be satisfied with this confirmation and would leave the Boy King be.

But as he was about to return to the library, he heard, “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

He paused.

He looked ahead, down the hallway, knowing that he should ignore the Boy King.

But he entered the room.

“Why do you say that?”

Making sure to remain outside the devil’s trap, he stopped and looked the Boy King straight in the eye.

He knew it wasn’t Sam. He was nothing like him. He couldn’t tell what exactly, but something was fundamentally off about him.

“Because I was hoping to talk to you.”

Frowning, Jack said, “You were?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

“Well, for one, after what happened, you must have questions.”

Jack shifted on his feet. “You mean, when you tried to kill me?”

“You think we wanted to destroy you? If we wanted to do that, there were much easier ways to do it. I’m fairly certain Godstiel could obliterate you on the spot. The First Blade can definitely cause you damage now, and it probably could have done so before. Hell, we could have simply stolen your grace with something as common as an angel blade. I happen to know one yellow-eyed demon who would pay a pretty penny for that. It would even perhaps be something worth investing to hold over his sick, enabling habit…but I’m digressing.”

“What do—then—then what did you want?”

Scoffing at him as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, he replied, “We’d like you to join us, of course.”

Jack flinched. “I would never do that.”

“You know what they say about saying ‘never…’”

“I won’t. I saw what you—” and he stopped mid-sentence, biting his lips, refusing to say the rest.

“You saw what?”

Jack shook his head.

“I’m all ears, Jack. As you can see, I don’t really have anything more urgent to do.” And then, tilting his head, he added, “And I must admit I am genuinely intrigued about what you were going to say.”

Taking a deep breath in, Jack whispered, “I saw all three of you. When he—at the house, when Godstiel touched me. It felt like my head was about to explode. Much like when angel radio gets overwhelming. But much worse. So much worse. And then I—I—”

“You began seeing things,” finished the Boy King.

Swallowing hard, Jack nodded. “I saw the three of you doing…awful things. You killed each other. Not—not you three, but—it’s complicated and odd, but I knew what I was seeing was your memories. I—I saw what you did to Dean and Castiel. Your Dean and Castiel. And Godstiel… how he… why? Why did I see this?”

“That was the point. I told you, we weren’t trying to kill you. We wanted to show you who we are. What we did. How things were in our respective worlds.” The Boy King took a deep breath, not averting his eyes one second, and as Jack was holding on to his every word, he continued, “We wanted to be honest with you. Can you say the same about _them_?”

“ _You_ hurt people. You’ve killed people,” said Jack, shaking his head.

“And your precious Winchesters haven’t? Or you for that matter?”

Jack’s heart dropped. “How—that wasn’t the same. It was an accident.”

“Then why were you planning on leaving them?”

Fear spread in Jack’s chest. Words died in his throat. He was unable to protest.

“That’s what I thought the first time I looked at you: that you didn’t belong and you didn’t want to, either,” said the Boy King softly. “Which is why you should join us. We are the best versions of ourselves. You would be a great fit with us. Think about it. The Castiel on my side, he’s got the juice of a god. Meanwhile, your Castiel was killed by a mere stab wound and the only reason why he’s here is because you made it happen.” Jack swallowed hard. “And Dean? While he may not be all mighty like Castiel or share my powers, in his own way, he is nearly invulnerable. The mark protects him from death and even from spells, too. Do you have any idea how many times your Dean has died?”

Feeling a pit in his stomach, Jack shook his head.

“Many _, many_ times. Electrified. Hellhounds. Shot. Stabbed to the heart. Hell, suicide even—as a bargain bit, of course, but still. Same thing for me—or, well, your Sam—and Castiel as well. All they do is die, and while they may come back, it’s never without leaving a trail of disasters behind them until their imminent painful end. Do you know how many times I’ve died? Zero. Not once.” Leaning forward as much as he could because of the chains, the Boy King said, “The power you hold within you, it’s more than they could ever imagine, let alone understand. Let us help you.”

The room became quiet.

All Jack could hear was the strong beating of his heart.

Until he said firmly, “No. Dean, Sam and Castiel, they are my family. I like them and they like me. You say they are lesser than you, but if that was true, how come you’re the one tied to a chair, and locked up in a dungeon?”

The Boy King stared at him for a moment, and then let out a short laugh. “Huh. I almost had you there, for a second, didn’t I? I guess that was worth the try. And to answer your question…”

Suddenly, his smile widened and his eyes turned black.

“That’s because you’re under the impression that this wasn’t my plan in the first place.”

And before poor Jack had the time to process what the Boy King had said, the chains turned into ropes, the Boy King was now wearing a bright white suit.

And a fiery crown hovered over his head.

“I know,” he said joyfully. “The optics are a bit dramatic.” He sighed deeply. “But it’s kind of my thing.”

The ropes went up in smoke, thus finally freeing him. The door shut behind Jack. He watched with horror the devil’s trap break as a massive fissure formed itself across the floor.

Strong fingers wrapped around his neck as the lights began flickering.

“Any last words?”

The drive to Emporia had been spent by listening to the radio. It had also felt very slow, despite being only an hour away from Lawrence, and Dean knew that the bit of traffic they had hit just before reaching the town had nothing to do with that.

Once they arrived at the witch’s house, unexpectedly, Castiel suggested that Dean should stay in the car and rest, while he dealt with the witch on his own.

Even though Dean doubted that Castiel wouldn’t be able to tackle this task on his own, he nevertheless didn’t like the idea. After all, one of the reasons why Castiel had insisted on accompanying him was precisely so Dean wouldn’t be on his own.

But he soon found out that Castiel was adamant about it.

“You either rest, or I’m driving the rest of the way.”

He knew Castiel hadn’t really meant it, but the very thought gave him heart palpitations.

“Then rest,” Castiel said firmly.

And apparently, as he left the car without giving him the opportunity to reply, Dean had lost the argument.

With the radio and motor turned off, however, Dean felt his eyelids becoming heavier.

It seemed as though only seconds had passed, but when Dean woke up, he found Castiel quietly sitting in the passenger seat, an hour later.

He had successfully retrieved the crystal and additional missing ingredients Rowena had asked for, and had apparently taken the liberty to get Dean some food (and coffee) as well. “It won’t be warm anymore, but it’s better than nothing.”

Dean couldn’t even be mad at Castiel for letting him sleep. A few bites of his burger and sips of coffee made all the difference for Dean, and after stepping out of the car to stretch a moment, they were back on the road.

The second portion of their drive occurred similarly to the previous one. Dean hummed to the tunes and Castiel looked at his phone once in a while.

About half-way there though, Castiel turned down the radio, claiming that he wanted a break from the bad news in between the songs.

Which Dean had to admit, wasn’t a terrible idea.

Awkwardness soon filled the space around them.

Neither of them was talking. They simply stole a few shy stares once in a while, waiting for the other one to say something.

Dean began fidgeting on his seat. His anxiety was increasing with every mile and he was desperately trying to ignore it.

What was wrong with him?

Spending time alone with Castiel, after everything, was definitely high on his to-do list. He had been genuinely happy when Castiel had voiced the desire to go with him.

But in the car, where there was nothing else to do but watch the road, it meant words had to be shared.

And because there was a lot that needed to be addressed, Dean, unsure where to begin and where the line was, felt trapped.

The worst part was that it had been his intention to discuss certain _things_ when he had gotten Castiel’s phone call just a few days ago.

And yet, he got caught in the celebration of the moment, and now, the longer he waited, the more difficult it was to broach the subject.

Which was a problem.

He repositioned himself in his seat, tilted his head to the side as though to stretch his neck and back a bit.

“Do you need to take another break?” asked Castiel.

“No, it’s good. I’m good.”

“It’s fine if you do, Dean. We’ve basically driven back and forth and taken a beating.”

Letting out a short laugh, Dean said, “Yeah, that was fun.” He exhaled loudly, determined to not think about what Deanmon and Godstiel could be up to at this moment.

Hoping that Sam had it covered with Rowena and Jack back at the bunker.

He swallowed hard.

“I’m okay,” he repeated sincerely. “We’re good for gas and we still have a couple of hours to go, so I’d rather continue.”

“As you wish.”

And the overbearing silence returned.

And Dean needed to do something about it.

“How do you think Sam and the others are doing?” he finally asked after clearing his voice.

“I don’t know. I hope Jack is fine.”

Dean moved his hands on the wheel.

“I wouldn’t say I’m glad this turn of events occurred the way it did,” said Castiel, “but at least it seems to have distracted Jack from what happened in Dodge City. He was very upset about his mistake, as he should be, but…for a moment I feared it might have been too much for him.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” said Dean. “It was an accident. Hell, like we told him, we’re not in any position to talk—especially not right now.”

“I simply hope he sees that nobody is impervious to mishaps, instead of—”

Castiel stopped mid-sentence, and after giving him a few seconds to continue, Dean glanced at him once it was clear Castiel was keeping the rest of his sentence to himself.

Holding an eye on the road, Dean said, “Instead of what?”

Silence.

“Cas?”

“I—instead of getting the wrong idea and—and concluding that this is the road we inevitably all end up on. I don’t want him to think that there is no hope and everything ends bloody.”

“He won’t. We won’t let him think that, okay? About himself and in general,” said Dean. And even though he had meant every word, he knew that, like Castiel, succeeding in that task would be nothing short of a miracle considering how they themselves had difficulty abiding by that principle alone.

There was a pause, during which Castiel took in the weight of Dean’s promise, until he said softly, “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“About—are we going to talk about it?”

And there it was.

The conversation he wasn’t ready to have.

As anxiety spread in his chest, Dean did everything he could to remain still, not wishing to display any indication of his panic.

Even though he knew it was pointless.

But he still tried.

Poorly.

“Talk about what?”

Castiel turned his head to stare directly at him, and while he didn’t tend to depict much of an expression, like at this moment, Dean could still tell that Castiel was mildly annoyed.

Swallowing hard, he said, “What do you want me to say, Cas?”

“I’d like to know what Sam and Jack were talking about concerning the time when I was gone.”

“When you were dead, you mean.”

“Yes.”

“Why? You’re here now. And honestly,” he said, feeling his throat tightening, “that’s all that matters. Okay? And we—we have bigger problems right now. So, can we drop it?”

“Dean.”

“Please.”

Castiel held his stare for a long minute, until he returned his focus on the road ahead.

For half a second, Dean believed he had dodged a bullet. His sweet feeling of relief, however, would turn out to be short-lived.

“Stop the car.”

“What?”

“Stop the car, Dean.”

Stunned, Dean frowned at him. But it didn’t take him long to assess that Castiel wasn’t kidding around.

So, Dean turned the wheel to the right, bringing the Impala slowly to a halt by the side of the road, and watched Castiel step out of the car at the first occasion he could and walk away from him.

Dean urgently stopped the car's engine and rushed after him.

“Cas! What the—wait!”

Castiel stopped at the mention of his name, but he still didn’t look at him, while Dean stood by, watching the back of his head.

Wondering what on earth he could say to him to make him understand.

And without overly comprising himself.

“Cas, I—I know we have a lot to talk about, but—and we will—but I just can’t right now.”

“Why?”

His back was still turned to him.

“I just can’t.”

Castiel scoffed as he finally faced him.

“This is exactly what I mean, Dean. How are we supposed to help Jack—guide him—if we can’t even do that ourselves? I don’t want him to keep all his doubts and troubles bottled up inside of him. And I don’t want you to do that, either.”

Biting his bottom lip, Dean lowered his eyes.

“Dean? What happened when I was gone?”

He had said it in such a gentle voice that Dean felt his chest swell.

“What were Sam and Jack talking about? They seemed to imply that you were…different.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Dean fought the urge to run back to the Impala.

“Dean?”

“I was a mess! Okay? There. I was a fucking mess.” He stared at him, swallowing hard. “We had lost everyone. Rowena. Mom. God, even Crowley!” And then he added in a broken voice, “But you, that—that was…” He averted his gaze for a moment and stared at the open road behind Castiel. The purple and pink sky was slowly getting darker, which was strange given that they were in the late afternoon. “With you gone—the way it happened…it was too much. And I—I…I didn’t take it well. I was awful. A poor excuse for a person. I was broken. Sam deserves a nomination for sainthood to have endured my sorry ass. Okay?”

He took a few deep breaths as he shifted on his feet. 

“And Jack—fuck, I—I was harsh on the kid. I was a dick. I know I was and I’ll make it up to him, I swear, but I—I just—I just fucking couldn’t help it.”

Giving Castiel a worried look, he desperately held his stare even if it was the last thing he wanted to do at that moment.

“Seeing you like that and having to burn—we had a funeral. We burned your body—vessel—whatever. I had to stand there, watch you burn and say goodbye and I—I was so mad at everything. And all I could think was that it was his fault. Jack. I know _he_ didn’t do it, but I kept thinking if you hadn’t ditched us for him, none of this would have happened.”

And unable to look Castiel straight in the eye for his next sentence, he stared at the pavement again and said, “It was just so unfair that he was here and you weren’t. So, I blamed him for it. And I shouldn’t have done that.”

Dean then shut his eyes as he took a deep breath in. And then he sensed Castiel taking a step forward, so he cautiously looked up.

“I’m sorry I disappointed you.”

“Cas, no. That’s not—” Dean had begun saying, but stopped when Castiel lifted a hand to let him speak.

“I’m sorry I disappointed you,” he repeated. “Not that it is an excuse, but that wasn’t my intention. Helping Kelly and Jack, I promise that wasn’t me abandoning you and Sam.”

He took another step.

“Dean, letting you down is about the last thing I want to do. After what happened when—well, when I followed through with Crowley’s Purgatory scheme, I promised myself I would do anything in my power to never repeat that mistake.” There was a short pause, and then he added in a gentle voice, “I fear that I did just that with Jack, so I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t saying that for that reason, Cas.”

“Still, it needs to be addressed.”

“No. It’s not the same thing. I don’t see it as the same thing. And we—we all made mistakes. You weren’t yourself. You were intoxicated by the purgatory souls.”

“And before that? What I did to lead me there wasn’t any better, Dean.”

“Crowley was juicing you up with souls from hell. I’m sure that counted for something. Just like Sam with demon blood.”

“Or you with the mark.”

“No, that was on me.”

“What? You think you’re the same?” said Castiel, nearly laughing. “You think you wearing the mark doesn’t make any difference?”

“Maybe not the same, but…I’ve been…look, it’s no secret that I’m…not innocent.”

“Dean, we all have our issues. You’re not the only one who—he—the Empty— _the shadow_ , he—there are certain things he implied. I know he was simply trying to discourage me, but…”

“What did he say?”

Castiel bit his lips and glanced to the side, avoiding Dean’s eyes.

Resting his hand on Castiel’s shoulder, Dean gently shook him so he would look at him.

“Cas, what did he say?”

“Many things I’d rather not repeat or think about. All but one.”

“What did he say?”

Silence.

It was the first time Castiel seemed worried. Wanting to reassure him, Dean slowly eased down his hand from Castiel’s shoulder to his arm, then his elbow, only to finally reach his hand.

Taking a mini step in closer to him, the next thing Dean knew, he interlocked his fingers with Castiel’s.

Their eyes met and stared silently at each other for a moment.

Since Castiel was still hesitant on sharing about the Empty, Dean decided to continue with his streak of honesty.

“The main reason why I was so upset that we had lost you—that _I_ had lost you—was that I couldn’t believe that after all this time, I still hadn’t done anything.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You say you promised yourself that you didn’t want to let me down after what happened with the whole Purgatory thing?”

Castiel nodded.

“Well, I did something similar. Ish. When you sided with Crowley and you didn’t keep us in the loop, I—I was so mad. I took it hard. And personal. You have to understand though, I’m pissed when people turn on us, of course. But I—weirdly, this is something I kind of expect now. Which probably says a lot about me, but that’s not the point,” he added after shaking his head. “What I mean is that after all the betrayal and backstabbing, there aren’t many people that just affected me like that. And when the Leviathans were set loose and you disappeared, that whole year was like…I was mad at you for everything you did, but I was even more pissed at the fact that I’d never get the chance to fix things. To say things.” He paused. “And when you showed up again, no matter how angry I was—and I was still massively angry—beneath all of this, I thought: I have another chance. I’ll fix it. But I lost you again _in_ Purgatory. And when you returned, months after you—I thought the same. And still, I didn’t do anything.”

Feeling his voice growing uneven by the end of his sentence he paused for a moment, trying to regain his composure.

“That’s why I was so angry. So devastated. So done with everything, because after all this, all those opportunities and promises, I still hadn’t done anything about…about this.”

He squeezed Castiel’s hand.

With his other hand, Dean pulled him slowly by the collar of his trench coat, bringing them closer.

Their faces nearly touching, they could feel each other’s breath on their lips.

“What did the shadow say?”

“That I’m irrelevant,” he breathed. “That I just complicate things and that…there’s nothing for me here and that I don’t—”

Unable to let Castiel finish that awful sentence, Dean leaned in and kissed him. There was a moment of hesitation at first, almost as though Castiel had not expected it at all, but it passed as fast as it had arrived. And soon, wrapping one arm around Dean’s waist, pressing him against him even more, Castiel took control of the kiss.

Much to Dean’s pleasure.

Feeling elated, he lost himself to it, welcoming Castiel's yearning, until he needed to break the kiss to catch his breath.

Still holding his hand, he made sure to say, “Don’t ever think that, okay? That shadow has no fucking clue.”

Castiel nodded, and pressed his lips against Dean’s mouth again, wanting more.

To which Dean was eager to oblige.

Soon enough though, much too soon to their liking, they were forced to pause their blissful moment.

The sun would set soon. The sky was now more of a dark blue color than purple, with hints of pink. Not particularly thrilled at rushing back home anymore, Dean and Castiel nevertheless knew that this short break, though definitely worthwhile, had come to a close.

They quietly ambled back to the Impala, holding hands as long as they could, until Castiel had to let go of Dean’s hand to get to the other side of the car.

Once seated though, they both beamed at each other.

Now happy, feeling like a massive weight had been lift off his shoulders, Dean turned on the radio, thinking that only a slow rock medley could improve this near blissful moment.

As he kept changing the radio stations, however, all he could find was the announcement of some devastating news.

Bloodshed in nearly every state. Some neighborhoods burnt, just like the one they had been fleeing from. Some places were only reporting a massive body count. And once again, considering they were leaving the details at “gruesome murders,” Dean could only imagine what it would mean.

But something about this was bothering Dean.

And one look at Castiel proved to him that he wasn’t the only one thinking that something didn’t add up.

“Not that I wish to diminish these tragedies. Death, no matter the amount, is rarely a good thing. But considering who is at work here, doesn’t it seem….”

“Like they’re almost holding back?”

And as troubling as this thought was, another kind of terror began settling throughout his body when a few specific locations were mentioned.

Notably, Lewis, Oklahoma; Buckhead, Georgia; and Granstburg, Wisconsin.

Dean reached for his phone to call Donatello.

A resident of Lewis.

But before the call could go through, the car lights flickered for a second.

And then the radio station died.

And there was no service on his phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to mention that it was impmakesart's idea to add the fiery crown on top of the Boy King's head, and when they showed me their loverly art, even the early sketches, I loved it so much that I decided to include it in the story ❤️


	6. Chapter Six: Tombstones

When Dean and Castiel finally reached the bunker, they were both hit with feelings of relief and anxiety. Their phones and the radio had remained without reception for the rest of the drive. The signal was simply dead. Which was never a good sign to begin with, but for it to occur right after a gnarly announcement, it was doubly worrisome for them, especially when knowing who was lurking around.

And the fact that Garth, Patience, and Donatello, whom Dean himself had instructed to return home for his own safety, resided in every town mentioned, and still having no way to reach out to them—or Sam and Jack—had been torturous.

It had been with great relief, however, that they found them both, at the very least, safe and sound at the bunker.

Unfortunately, the celebrations ended there when they discovered that the Boy King had escaped. They were shocked to hear how the conversation between Jack and the Boy King had unfolded.

“I tried to stop him, once I had managed to get him off of me, but I—he was too strong. I just ended up ricocheting against the wall.”

Since it seemed that the Boy King could have simply walked out at any moment, they told Jack that he wasn’t to blame for what had happened. Jack could beat himself up all he wanted, but given the bruises on his neck, there was no doubt in the others’ minds that he had been lucky to make it out alive.

Concerning the subject of his conversation with the Boy King, while it was certainly a worthy piece of information to know that Team Free Dark didn’t see him as a threat, but rather a potential ally, in the end, they weren’t sure how they could use this to their advantage.

Once Jack was done with his part of the story, Sam began telling his. Like Jack, he informed the other three of his conversation with the Boy King.

He also told them that he had been woken from his nap by Rowena. It seemed that after she had dismissed Jack because they had reached the last steps of the spell, which required the crystal and other missing ingredients, Rowena had gathered that the boys could manage the rest without her.

She had explained to Sam how to perform the spell in clear details, and informed him that she had also prepared the necessary items for a teleportation spell for them to use once the crystal was ready.

“I did the same for a locating spell, but I don’t think it will be of much use. I’ve been trying it all afternoon and I have no idea where the other two are. They must be shielded by such magic. That being said,” she had added gravely, “I don’t think they’ll make it too hard for you to find them when the time comes. Nevertheless, it’s available should you need it.”

Although Sam would have much preferred that she had remained with them until Castiel and Dean had returned, Sam had to admit that, ultimately, this hadn’t been Rowena’s fight. She had been unfairly dragged into it, and had still been a tremendous help despite it all.

Remembering why the boys had done the original spell in the first place, however, she had suggested to Sam that she also join Jody, Mary and Patrick, until the coast was clear.

“And since Patrick is after Mr. Ketch and _he_ ’s after me, perhaps me tagging along with that old witch will save you boys some leg work.”

Sam had been tempted to question Rowena about her history with Ketch—as well as potentially Patrick—but he simply nodded, and figured they would be questions for a later day.

So, she had reminded him of the spell’s instructions, that they needed to pick a champion to use the crystal, and soon, Rowena had vanished.

Having not seen Jack in a while, Sam had been about to scan the bunker to find him. He had gotten quickly distracted, however, when the names Page and Oberwetter had popped into his mind. Since Rowena had told him that Jack seemed tired when she had dismissed him, he had figured that he had most likely gone to rest in his room for a while, and doing a quick online research to put his mind at ease wouldn’t be the worst idea.

Less than twenty minutes later, Sam had found a potential lead.

Oakwood Cemetery.

It seemed that a cemetery in Austin, Texas, was one of the very few things he could find that connected both names.

Page was the architect of the chapel’s cemetery and Oberwetter was a botanist buried there.

So, yes, a _potential_ lead.

Of course, this was only from a preliminary online search, which had been cut short when the Internet, and everything else, had died.

Sam had barely had time to lift his eyes from his computer screen, confused about what was happening, before he had realized that the Boy King was standing in front of him.

His clothes had changed. His eyes were dark.

And he had eyed the table, where vials of Rowena’s potions had been resting and the next thing Sam knew, they had both been reaching for them. With a simple wave of a hand from the Boy King, the table and everything on it, including the vials, had been sent flying across the room and had shattered.

Noticing the anger and despair spreading across Castiel and Dean’s face upon hearing this, Sam then quickly reassured them that he had had the good sense of putting aside the necessary potions for the crystal’s spell on one of the empty shelves after Rowena’s departure. Still feeling fatigued despite his nap, Sam had wanted to make sure he wouldn’t do something stupid, like use the wrong vial because of his sleep deprived mind.

So, it turned out that being over cautious had paid off because the unfinished potion had remained untouched on the shelf.

The same could not be said about the vials for other spells, however, which was definitely upsetting.

It was, in fact, one of the worst-case scenarios they could have experienced right about now.

“What did he do after that?” asked Dean.

“I don’t know if he was planning on doing anything else,” said Sam, “but after the conversation I had had with him, I decided to keep my gun on me just in case, you know, something crazy like that happened, and I started firing at him. He didn’t stick around long enough to see how truly effective the devil’s trap bullets were against him after that.”

And with the Boy King gone, rushing to the dungeon as he had feared the worst, Sam had met Jack halfway there, in turn worried about Sam’s well-being.

Now that everyone was caught up, they exhaled deeply and began their brainstorming session.

It didn’t take them long before realizing that, while many things were still confusing, some had become clearer.

The Boy King had intended to be captured.

Bringing Jack to their side was one of their key goals.

And considering the stunt that the Boy King had just pulled, they were most likely far more powerful than they had led on.

And that was truly frightening.

But Dean pointed out that even if they didn’t know what their endgame was, it still didn’t change the fact that they still had the means to finally put an end to their scheme.

And indeed, the Boy King’s escape might have been a step back, but not everything had been lost.

Unbeknownst to the Boy King, his counter attack had failed. They could still finish the spell.

That was an advantage.

And the more Sam was pondering on the Page and Oberwetter mystery, the more he was convinced it was truly connected to the Oakwood Cemetery.

A location. That was it. That was what they had wanted to relay to them. 

Given how Team Free Dark had questioned Rowena in depth about those two names, but with no apparent intention on actually _finding_ them as they continually ignored her suggestions to do so, suggested that they had simply used her to play messenger.

Sam was sure of it.

Just like with everything else, the bunker, Lawrence, the town massacres, this had been part of their plan. 

A breadcrumb for them to follow.

And something told Sam that this was their way of letting them know the location of their big finish. 

Either to torment them by giving them hope they could rush in and stop them. Or to be roped into it. Or both.

No matter what, Sam knew they were most likely ten steps ahead of them, and therefore, they would probably fall into their trap.

But that certainly didn't meant they shouldn't try to fight back.

After everything, no way he was sitting this one out. Especially not if he knew where they would be.

Before they could start discussing a plan of attack, he reminded everyone that they still had to settle on one detail about the spell: they needed to choose their champion.

“That person will be the only one who can use the crystal. On the one hand, that sucks because it means that if they get harmed or something happens to them, we’re done. On the other hand, it means that no one else, including the other three maniacs, has power over that crystal. And I don’t just mean, they can’t use it. I mean, they can’t even destroy it.”

“So, no risk of us getting stuck in there instead of them. Good,” said Dean.

“Are there any side effects to being the champion?” asked Castiel.

“No. It just basically makes you responsible for it.”

“Which means that we have to decide on who has the best chance of holding their ground against them.”

Everyone fell silent.

While no one voiced it, by simply exchanging looks, Sam, Dean and Castiel already knew who that person should be.

Sam cleared his throat, as he watched Jack staring down at the table.

He shot another look at the other two, who nodded at him with calm expressions.

Shifting on his seat, Sam said, “Jack? I know the last few days have been eventful. So, if you don’t feel like you’re up to it, that’s okay.” He paused. “But if you’d like, I—”

“We,” added Castiel in a soft tone.

“—we think you would be our best option to be the champion.”

Jack bit his lips and then shook his head.

“No, you don’t want to be the champion? Or—”

“I don’t think I should,” he said, finally lifting his head. “I don’t think I would be able to.”

“Kid, you are the most powerful of us,” said Dean. “After everything they did to you, I get that you wouldn’t be in a hurry to see them again. I know it’s going to be hard. But just to be clear, you’re not going to do this alone. It’s not just going to be on you. We’ll be there. We’ll do everything we can to clear your way.”

Jack lowered his eyes. “That’s not it. It—what if—”

But he fell silent.

And the others kept quiet, waiting for him to continue speaking. At Jack's silence, Sam left his spot and sat right next to him.

“Jack, why do you think you can’t do this?” asked Sam.

Silence.

“What’s wrong?”

Silence.

Now officially worried, Sam said, “Why don’t you want to tell us what’s wrong?”

Shrugging, he said, “It—it doesn’t matter.”

“Of course, it matters,” said Dean. “Did something else happen?”

He shook his head a little slowly, and swallowed hard.

“Jack,” said Sam, as softly as he could, “even if it doesn’t seem to matter—or if it has nothing to do with this—you should always tell us if something is bothering you. I want to know you’re okay, we all want that.”

“If I tell you, you—you will change your mind about me.”

“I don’t believe that, Jack.”

“I—I lied,” he finally blurted out. “I didn’t tell you everything that happened with the Boy King.”

He had left out only one part of his conversation.

He had told them of what had Godstiel had done to him.

Of the Boy King's proposal to join his team.

And how his escape had occurred.

However, Jack had purposely kept to himself the part regarding his prior desire to leave the Winchesters and Castiel.

A lot had happened since the incident in Dodge City, but the guilt of it had still been overwhelming to Jack. And no matter how he wished it to be differently, had it not been Patrick’s phone call, thus offering an opportunity to help save Mary, Jack, despite loving Sam, Castiel and Dean, would have left them.

Not because of something they had said.

But because he had believed that he only caused trouble and that they would be better off without him.

Although the other three had suspected Jack had been scarred by the incident, they were shocked by this revelation.

“Why didn’t you tell us before?” asked Sam.

“You—you keep things to yourselves all the time. And there’s plenty that I know you don’t like to talk about. So, I—I was just waiting to see if I could help first, but I’m not sure if that changed anything.”

It was so wrong to hear him reason it like that, Sam, Dean and Castiel felt sick about it.

“Jack, listen,” said Dean in an unwavering voice. “We know it was an accident. We don’t blame you. It happens. And we do _not_ want you to leave. Not before, right now or later.”

“And as for what you said about us not telling you things, it’s not because we wanted to exclude you. Some things are complicated. We didn’t want to overwhelm you. But we should have said something.”

And although what Sam had just said was the truth, his comment still felt partly incomplete to Dean. So, he stepped in and said bluntly, “I can’t speak for Sam and Cas, but I know that, for me, I just…there are things that I don’t like to think about, let alone openly discuss. Because I regret it. I’ve done a lot of things that—many mistakes—but _this_ …what I remember feeling. Doing. Thinking. What I could have done…I can’t believe these two are still talking to me. And it’s something I prefer not to think about if I can help it.”

“Dean—” started objecting Sam, but Dean cut his brother off, with a short wave of his hand to let him finish.

And after glancing at Castiel, who was watching him with the kindest eyes, he said, “I’m grateful they don’t bring it up every five seconds. I know I haven’t done them the same service at times. So, I—we just don’t talk about this. But I…I just, um, experienced how liberating it can be to say stuff out loud. Stuff that I swore I’d never… it’s not easy. But it’s worth it.”

Listening carefully to Dean, Sam suddenly understood something.

Well, he understood many things, including the completely different tension between his brother and Castiel.

But that was irrelevant for now.

A more pressing matter was that certain parts of Dean’s speech had reflected some of Sam’s during his conversation with the Boy King.

“Dean, that’s—I think I know why they are here. I mean, I’m not sure how exactly that helps us, but I think I get it now.”

“Really? What do you think it is?”

“Um, I—I’m not sure how to say this without sounding cheesy, but—”

“ _Sam_. Tick freaking tock.”

“Right. When the Boy King was listing to me all the reasons why he believed that he was better off without either of you, the more I was certain of the opposite. And then…remember what Patrick said about the spell? That it was about emotion?”

“Yeah, to Mom.”

“Yes, so I think that’s why.”

Castiel and Dean glanced at each other.

“Sam, english.”

“When we did the spell, what did you feel like?”

“Hopeful,” said Castiel.

“Not just that, though, right?”

Castiel pondered on it. “I was worried. And I also felt guilty. I wasn’t directly responsible for Mary’s fate, but I feel like I had something to do with it.”

“Me too.” And Sam didn’t need to ask Dean.

Guilt was Dean’s middle name.

“I think they are highlighting—in a very extreme way—our problems right now. These guys are our complete opposites reflecting that. We share guilt. They are completely free of it. We brought her back because we wanted to be all together. They were brought together because they have done everything to not be together.”

“Okay, so…” said Dean, processing, “let’s say you’re right. I still don’t understand what that changes or even why they were the price of that damn spell. Like, what does that say about us?”

“They are here because we _needed_ to deal with this. That’s what it says about us. That they are still an issue for us. Deep down. It’s something we felt guilty about. Just like Mom being stuck there.”

“Well, whichever way you want to phrase it,” said Dean, sighing, “I know that I need to stop them from doing whatever it is they’re planning. And even after all this, I still vote that Jack is the champion.”

“You do?”

“Hell yeah, kid.”

Sam and Castiel nodded.

"So, what is going to be?”

Jack turned to Sam. He took a deep breath and said, “What do I have to do?”

With the impossibility of using the teleportation spell Rowena had prepared for them, the ten-hour drive from Lebanon to Austin was somewhat problematic to the group.

While they argued that if the trio had gone through all the trouble of luring them to a showdown once more, they would probably wait for them before beginning whatever it was that they were scheming about.

That being said, the boys had had enough. Any form of communication was down. The lights of the bunker had started flickering heavily half an hour after Castiel and Dean had returned, and by the time Sam had finished casting the spell for the crystal, the power would go down all together for a few minutes at a time.

They had no desire to see what else could go amiss.

So, as the boys were rounding up the few weapons left that they could use, Jack, feeling a boost of confidence after the others had reassured him that they believed in him, suggested that he could teleport them to Austin.

A skill he had not yet performed.

Nor did anyone know if he could, in fact, perform it.

Sam and Dean were hesitant about this option, but Castiel thought otherwise. He believed that flying—and everything that it entailed—was definitely a skill that Jack could possess. Not much was known about Nephilim, but being part angel should at least grant him that.

Given that it wasn’t Sam or Dean’s area of expertise, they decided to take Castiel’s word for it and decided that it was worth a try.

Surprisingly, it actually worked.

It took a few tries at first. While the Winchesters carried on with preparing the weaponry, Castiel and Jack went outside the bunker to “practice.”

Sam and Dean would have liked to see what exactly a teleportation practice looked like, but at least they were glad that, within a short hour, Jack appeared to have been able to teleport himself and Castiel.

In the evening, as the sky was turning unusually pink—almost red—Team Free Will 2.0 arrived swiftly on the grounds of Oakwood Cemetery, in Austin, Texas.

The moment they arrived, they knew they were at the right place.

There was static in the air and it smelled so strongly of sulfur, they could taste it.

Walking on wet grass, they made their way to the center of the cemetery.

It didn’t take them long to spot their counterparts.

The trio was standing over an unmarked tombstone. Godstiel was holding a metallic urn, while the Boy King and Deanmon were delicately placing three skulls on top of the stone, as though to form a triangle.

“I hope they exhumed those from a tomb and not—you know…”

Then, Boy King added four other items in the middle of the stone. It took the team a moment, but as they got closer, they realized what it was: four bloody hearts. He said something indiscernible from their position and Godstiel put down the urn at the very center.

The wind was rising.

Then with a wave of Godstiel’s hand, one of the curse boxes manifested itself in Deanmon’s possession.

Sam felt Dean stirring next to him. Resisting the urge to charge in and stop them from opening that box was difficult. But before leaving the bunker, they had agreed to stick to the plan and unlike the time before.

Thus, they watched them retrieve the box's treasure, feeling their strong heartbeats.

The contents of the box revealed itself to be quite a surprise for the Winchesters. Mainly because what was inside wasn’t a curse object at all.

Well, it wasn’t the one they had expected.

What the curse box had held was the Black Grimoire. A spell book taken from the Loughlin family. A spell book, that Sam and Dean had firmly believed to have been safely stored in the bunker.

And now they felt like fools. Perhaps the trio hadn’t even cared about the boxes' contents.

Perhaps the boxes themselves had been what they had sought all along.

Or perhaps the usefulness of the boxes had been a lucky perk to keep the book undetected.

“Fuck. We didn’t even know they had it,” yelled Dean. “What else did they take?”

A question which Sam had no time to dwell on at the time, especially because their presence had finally been noticed thanks to Dean’s outburst.

Close enough for the groups to hear one another, the trio greeted them, giddy of their arrival.

And then, with a nod of agreement, the Boy King returned to his book, right after looking up at the sky as though he was waiting for something to happen, and Godstiel and Deanmon dropped what they were holding and began advancing towards them.

Just that alone would have been a menacing sight to witness.

But it took the boys a moment to process the scene unfolding before their eyes.

Two long, dark horns sprouted from Deanmon’s head. Actual horns.

If that wasn’t disturbing enough, Godstiel, floating mid-air, spewed black goo that reminded them of the Leviathans. But the gooey mass, which was ever-growing and covering the ground at an excessive speed, remained connected to him.

And then he lifted his arms, and that shit went everywhere.

Shocked, Team Free Will 2.0 took cover behind some tombstones.

The ground shook under their feet. The red sky was now the eye of a storm.

Stating that their situation was grim was an understatement. 

But they were still there. Together. And Jack, with his right fist shut tight around the crystal, nodded firmly at the other three.

“Godstiel, first.”

“Get him.”

Jumping to their feet, Dean and Sam fired entire loads at Deanmon. This caught Godstiel’s attention, which was the point. Sam and Dean hurried towards the Boy King, hoping to gain the upper hand on him, while Godstiel rushed to Deanmon's side. When he hit the ground next to him, the black goo, which had been extremely inconvenient, was returning towards him. His eyes and mouth burned bright blue, as though he was super-charging.

And with perfect timing, Castiel and Jack teleported on either side of them, and before Deamon could react, Castiel gripped his wrist and made him stab Godstiel in the chest with the First Blade.

Black veins spread over his face to counter the effect of the First Blade, as his blue eyes no longer burned. Screaming, Deanmon let go of the blade, wishing to stop the process, but it stayed stuck in Godstiel’s chest. 

Jack brought the crystal to Godstiel's forehead and recited the incantation over Deanmon’s wails, only to watch him turn into smoke and get sucked into the crystal.

Castiel, still holding Deanmon, nudged him towards Jack without wasting a moment.

And quite miraculously, after the second smoke slid into the crystal, they had managed to take two down in one go.

But the Boy King was still left to deal with.

Seemingly unperturbed that Deanmon and Godstiel had disappeared, he was still chanting incantations, as he was pouring a silvery liquid on the stone.

And he was getting the better of Sam and Dean. As they had done earlier with Deanmon, they shot at him, but the bullets turned to ash before they even reached him. Frustrated, Dean, holding an angel blade, and Sam, armed with Ruby’s knife, followed through with their second plan and charged at him full force.

But they lost their balance as a massive quake occurred. The soil ripped itself below their feet and the sky screamed and the rain fell heavily.

And as the Boy King extended his hand towards them menacingly, he was then propelled in the air, only to fall flat on his stomach.

Jack, with his golden eyes, advancing towards him.

The other three took hold of the last foe as fast as they could before he attempted anything else.

But he didn’t seem bothered one second. The Boy King was looking at them with a victorious smile on his face. “You’re too late,” he screamed at them.

And although nothing else seemed to have occurred within their surroundings, Team Free Will 2.0 had this massive pit in their stomach, knowing that something awful was probably being unleashed.

“It’s too late, now,” he repeated. “There is no stopping it.”

Lighting brightened the skies. The thunder was so loud, they felt it in their chest.

Gripping him by his shirt, Sam yelled, “What did you do?”

“I told you. We wanted to make it homey. This place was missing a few things to make it so. But no worries, they’re on their way now.”

“They?”

And while Sam had wanted to know what he had meant by this, Jack stepped in and rested the crystal to his forehead.

And right before vanishing, the Boy King was laughing.

And as his last laugh echoed, the sky cleared out and the ground stopped shaking.

The four of them dropped on their knees. Breathing deeply.

With Jack, uttering the last incantation, sealing the crystal, which was warm in his hand.


	7. Chapter Seven: Together

Back at the bunker, they immediately called their friends and fellow hunters they hadn’t been able to reach earlier when all communications had ceased. And once they knew that every one of them was safe, a long night of celebration followed. The four of them laughed over a bottle of whiskey, which was shared solely between the adults, though Jack was allowed a couple of beers. Sam told embarrassing childhood and hunting stories, Castiel recounted his very first impression of Earth, and Dean repeated that they ought to have a recreational room, which he proudly proclaimed should be called “The Dean Cave” or the “Fortress of Dean-a-tude,” at which Sam couldn’t help but roll his eyes. 

Soon enough, the stress of the last few days caught up to them, and one by one, they called it a night, feeling utterly (and emotionally) exhausted.

While the next morning was considerably rough, their good humour remained, and by early afternoon, they had begun cleaning up the rest of the mess in the bunker, especially the library.

In a very leisurely manner.

That had been the one point everyone had agreed on.

Sam created himself a piling system for the books that had sustained a lot of damage. Some of them were unique and could not be replaced. And with their inventories destroyed, it appeared that a long project was formulating itself for him. 

It didn't made his job easier that, in the midst of the destruction, it was impossible for them to assess clearly what had been stolen.

The fact that Team Free Dark had snatched the Black Grimoire right from under their noses and it had taken them that long to realize it, was a testament to that.

And even though they had brought the spell book back with them on the night before, and it was kept under key, Sam couldn't shake this awful gut feeling that this mishap would come back to haunt them.

Before placing it away, out of curiosity, Sam had skimmed the book briefly. He had wanted to learn what spell they had been working on.

With the storm raging and them rushing to restrain the Boy King, the book hadn't been their main concern. It had simply fell shut to the ground and no time to see which page the Boy King had been reading from. Thus, the only way to finally discover their plan was for them to read carefully the entire book.

Unfortunately, there were more bad news: it came to Sam's attention that pages from the book were missing as well. They had been cut off. Some ripped off.

Not that it was the typical reading material Sam had examined thoroughly on multiple occasions, but he was rather certain that no page had been missing from the book before it had been stolen.

So what did that mean? 

Which pages were missing? Had Team Free Dark used them? Gave them to someone else? In that case, who? In exchange for what?

Or had they simply wanted to cover their tracks, should had they lost the book?

What had they been planning?

Sam checked his phone every five minutes, expecting the worst. 

But nothing came out of it. It seemed that from the moment Jack had captured the Boy King in the crystal, everything returned to its usual news.

The wave of massacres had ended. No red skies. 

Everything was it was.

Which was why Dean took the liberty to take Sam's phone away for a few hours.

"You're the one who always tell me to slow down. To let it go. Well, Sam, _let it go_." 

Dean was right. Even if those missing artefacts were not to be ignored.

Even if they still didn't know what or where they were.

Even if they had no clue what had been the trio's plan, and more importantly, if it had succeeded, as the Boy King had claimed.

The fact was that the crisis had been averted, yet again.

Today was about rebuilding. So he took a break from the library and followed Dean to kitchen, where Jack and Castiel were fixing up the room.

Despite the festivities of the night before, Castiel and Dean hadn’t had much occasion to find privacy yet.

And it hadn’t been without Sam’s notice, to Dean’s mild annoyance, as he wasted no time smirking at Dean every time he caught him staring at Castiel with a dumb smile on his face.

Later in the afternoon, in the storage room where Team Free Dark had stolen the two curse boxes, Jack delicately put back on the shelf one the boxes they had recovered.

Of course, its contents had changed since then. They had yet to determine what the trio had robbed them of and what they had done with it.

But for now, the box served as additional protection to safeguard the bright red crystal until a better solution was found.

Should they ever find one.

Jack took a moment to observe the rest of the room and wondered what the other boxes held. What dangerous artefacts lay inside, never to see the light again?

How long had they been there? How difficult had it been for Sam, Dean and Castiel to retrieve those unique items?

His eyes fell on the box again and he was relieved that he had been able to help them for this one.

Dean, standing by the entrance, had been watching him with attention over the last few minutes, unbeknownst to Jack.

He was beaming.

“Hey, kid!” he finally said, knocking on the door frame. “You done?”

“Yes. Is it really safe to leave them here like this?” asked Jack, still staring at the box.

“There aren’t many other places that I’d trust to leave these around.” Then realizing what he had just said, he added, “Okay, I get that might not mean much of anything considering we just got robbed, but that was extreme circumstances. The point is that it’s safe.”

Remaining on his spot, Jack nodded at him as he continued staring at the box.

“You did good, kid.”

A smile forming itself on his face, Jack turned to Dean.

“Come on,” said Dean. “Sam left to get food and we’re planning on going over the next case when he comes back as we eat. You in?”

As he delightedly followed Dean outside the room, something occurred to Jack. “Dean?”

“Hmm?” he said, locking the door behind them.

“What do you think Patrick is going to ask of me as a favour in the future?”

“I have no clue,” said Dean, sighing. “But I hope it never gets to that.”

“Why? He helped us. It’s only fair that I help him in return.”

Dean observed him a moment, and then said, “You’re right. I just—I hope that he’s fair, too. And that it won’t be until a long time from now. We already have to follow through with his first request as it is. Which is our next case, by the way. To find Ketch.”

“Oh! Good. That means research.” He came to halt and said excitedly, “I should get Sam’s computer, then. I had borrowed it earlier!”

And he bolted down the hallway, making Dean laugh at his eagerness to do research.

“I guess I’ll see you in the kitchen, then,” he said more to himself than to Jack.

Dean continued down the hallway on his own, passing by his own bedroom. He paused, thinking that Castiel might have been there, but the room was empty. He then continued his way, crossed the war room, which was also empty, and continued ahead towards the kitchen.

He heard Castiel’s voice, so he quickened his pace, thinking that Sam had already returned with the food.

Once he stepped into the room, however, Dean froze on the steps.

Castiel and Mary were seated at the table.

When he noticed his arrival, Castiel gave him the warmest smile.

And as Dean watched Mary slowly turned herself to see what Castiel was looking at, the weight on Dean's shoulders lifted.

Finally, his mother was home with them.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading 💜 I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> As you can probably tell, there will be another instalment! It wasn't my intention to turn this into a series. I really just wanted to explore this concept and when the tfwbigbang challenge came along, I thought it was perfect for it.  
> But this badass trio has so much potential, I was almost mad that I had to keep myself in check because of the deadline lol.  
> So, there will be a sequel, I just don't know when.
> 
> Please, check out the wonderful's impmakesart's [master post](https://impmakesart.tumblr.com/post/628297581565444096/the-silence-of-souls) of their amazing art. Again, you were a pleasure to work with!
> 
> [Danica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danica_Dust/pseuds/Danica_Dust) and Landrala, thank you. I appreciate your input and MASSIVE help. 
> 
> I hope you have a nice day and that you are safe ❤️


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